Remnants of a Thru Hike

Coming back from the AT, it seems as though I’ve been plopped in the middle of a bustling street as I wander slowly, a bit lost, through the throngs of people who have a destination. There’s an odd disconnection I feel that can’t really be explained. A trail friend was complaining how it’s been hard to participate in small talk. You can no longer ask people how many miles they did, talk about how gorgeous the view you all passed that day was or what they’re cooking for dinner. Even talking with some friends, I feel slightly off and removed. There’s this fog I’m trying to see through that appears to have no end. I’m stuck in the thick of it. I can hear others, but I can’t quite reach them properly.

As life does, it moves on while you’re gone. People have grown, moved away, gotten married or had children. I think this is all part of some culture shock that should pass as I spend more time away from trail life. Nonetheless, being done with a thru-hike has me feeling these type-a ways:


Shoot, it’s time to find a job.

I’ve spent nearly 6 months in the woods occasionally talking to the animals lurking within the forest. There was a stretch of 10 minutes where I did a call and response sequence with some crow on a branch. A crow. Luckily, no one saw me. Unfortunately, it’s clear that some signs point to slight delusion. How am I supposed to dress up, talk properly and impress someone in an interview?



How can I adventure while being stable?

There’s a sense of accomplishment and duty that comes with being employed. You have a purpose, you’re working toward goals and, hopefully, giving back to society in a way. Jobs are good. Adventures are good. Finding the work/rad adventure life balance sounds daunting. Some people have a hard time finding availability to even go to the gym let alone bag wild trips to beautiful mountains.


Welp, it’s me. Living at my parent’s house. Broke and alone.

It’s the millenial dream, right? Just hanging out. At home. With your parents. So what I’m saying is, if you’re around and are equally bored, please hit me up.


Did the hike even happen?

There’s only so much time I can spend talking about the trail, reiterating my stories to my parents (because, let’s be honest, those are the only people I’m hanging out with these days).

People will ask about it by saying “how was your hike?” I can only muster an “ it was great.” How can I begin to condense my entire hike into one elevator speech? It almost diminishes the hike to summarize it, but no one wants the 6-month-long explanation. So, you answer a few short questions and the conversation moves on without a sense of actually relaying how the hike made you feel. It was amazing, it sucked, it struck you with emotions when you least expected it. There were moments when a view made you hold your breath for fear of ruining the stillness. Friends ebbed and flowed as you let a variety of people enrich your trail life. Trail angels filled your world with hope, happiness and help. On the fourth climb of the day, your body screamed while your legs pushed on. Teeth bared, you make it to a summit and the strain is all worth it.

All of that seems so far away now.


Don’t let hiker hunger take over.

On trail, you eat like an animal. Get. Those. Calories. Men become emaciated, and ladies get cut. However, back at home, you’re not walking 20+ miles each day. I have to actually eat normal-human portions, and lift weights.


(I pulled a sneaky, BYOA – bring your own avocado- in Hot Springs, NC. Dedicated to the ‘cado)


It’ll all be fine.

It sounds like I’m floundering, I am a bit, but life will work out. I’ll get a job and make it a priority to go on sweet outdoor adventures. (Hello, PCT hike eventually?)


Let me know what you think about transitioning from adventures back to “real life!” If you’re interested in following more of my adventures on Instagram, hit up @SeeBagsGo.

A Journey or an Accomplishment?

Everyone says to “enjoy the journey.” I am, but sometimes it’s hard. Now that Katahdin, the final mountain I’ve been walking toward since March, is 220 miles away, I can’t help but want to be there. Friends keep posting their iconic Katahdin summit pictures almost every day, and I would love to be touching the summit of the mountain that initially seemed unreachable.

The other day, I stopped short because the mountains were hard and the day had been long. I threw up my tent atop the beautiful Mount Old Blue, but I felt uneasy. I loved the view, the serenity and the hushed bird chirps, but I couldn’t help but think how I had ended early. Why would I end early when I could’ve made Katahdin 10 miles closer that day? Being tired feels like no excuse right now. It’s almost as if I should simply let my feet walk until I reach the mountain. No sleep, no rest. Just walk. My feet itch to be scraping the sides of the slippery rocks in Baxter State Park. Everything I do that delays the union of my body and Katahdin seems to eat away at me. I don’t want to look back at the Maine section and regret going too fast, but I also want the rush of a goal accomplished.

To help pace me, motivate me and make sure I let myself laugh throughout the final two weeks I’m meeting up with some old trail family (The Four Day Family). They kept it slow, and had some emergency, that has allowed us to be within catching up range. I’ll take a short day into Caratunk, Maine to reunite with them. We’ll tackle the 100 Mile Wilderness and Katahdin together. I’m happy to be getting back with familiar faces. I know they’ll keep me on track mentally, so I can’t wait for Sunday. Here’s to enjoying the journey, but also fighting to accomplish a goal.

Thru Hiking to Happiness

Self-confidence/self-esteem/happiness with yourself, whatever you want to call it, I’ve struggled with it since those lovely tween years. I could point fingers and say it started with the stereotypical pressures of being a dancer, but some people handle that pressure with the utmost grace. I guess I wasn’t prepped to deal with the constant scrutinization of my weight, body or how much I ate. Teachers would tell me to lose a few pounds and “tone up” despite having a normal figure, and I’d see dancers around me starting to starve themselves and be rewarded for that. We stared at ourselves in mirrors as we danced and saw every tiny flaw that we could possibly perfect whether it be the body or the dance technique. Seeing my imperfections so much, I started dreading being seen or heard by others. I felt insignificant and unworthy.

My insecurity manifests in my daily life as awkwardness, but that’s why you love me, right? I used to weigh myself 5 times a day. I would avoid looking at people so I wouldn’t have to talk. I’d let someone else give their opinion first so that I could pretend to agree with it in hopes that agreeing would save me from putting my own ideas out there. I can thankfully say I’ve improved on these things in the past few years, but my AT thru really has been chicken soup for my insecure soul.

How does taking a simple walk in the woods work such wonders on your mental state? It does sound a bit extreme, I know. Do the trees whisper “you’re amazing, you got this!” as you traipse through the forest? Some might say yes. I know a hiker who thought all the birds tweeting at her were giving her sounds of encouragement. Another hiker I was with laughed and said that he thought their calls were just mocking his ineptitude. Everyone has their own interpretation, clearly, but here’s what has gotten me out of my shell a bit:

1) Holding Yourself Accountable

Making my own decisions and goals that only I care about if I reach. No one is bothered if I don’t do the 20 mile day that I set out to do. There’s no pressure, it’s just living out my trail life in the exact way that I want to. That simple. It’s just me doing what I want to do, and it works out for me. I’ve kept myself alive, I’m making miles and I’m slowly getting to Maine. Realizing that my choices and decisions are valid is a huge step toward accepting myself.

2) Viewing my Body as a Tool

You see some of your parents’ old tools in their basement. They may have their quirks, you have to jiggle the wrench handle a few times before it can do the job, but it works. Despite what imperfections I can see with myself, my body is climbing mountains every single day. I’ve made it over 1,400 miles now. My legs are extensions of my trail runners. My back is an extension of my pack. The body I have is strong and can accomplish more than I ever imagined.

3) Everyone is Gross

All thru hikers smell like a pile of poo, they have dirt smeared all over their body and they drip sweat. There’s no mirror to scrutinize each part of my body or face. There’s just equally gross people around me who could care less about what I’m wearing or how I smell. It’s freeing to not worry about how I appear to others. All I can see is how far I’ve hiked, and how much I’ve achieved in the day.

4) Talking is Easy

There’s a sense of community and trust between hikers. We all have miles, gear and crazy trail stories that we can bond over during dinner or setting up camp. Most hikers are stoked to hear about other’s experiences, and it’s made me aware of how important each of our days are. No one is out here to nit-pick your stories or conversation. The genuine nature of people out here helps me feel less anxious to share my thoughts.

5) The Forest is Yoga for those Who Hate Yoga

I get a lot of questions concerning what I think about during those long hours hiking. Honestly, for most of it, I think of nothing. I stare at the ground, because if I look up for two seconds I’ll be face planting into the ground, and think of nothing. I hear my breath, I hear the birds and I hear the slight squeak of my pack. It’s the closest I’ve ever come to meditation. When my mom drags me to yoga, I can’t ever seem to “clear my mind” as the teacher encourages. So, the hike is truly a time where I can let everything fall away and just be. Lesson of the day: if you hate yoga as much as I do, getting outside is just as good as Shavasana.

There’s never a simple, easy or real “cure” for insecurity, but the trail has come pretty darn close for me. It’s the most relaxed and happy I’ve ever been. My body is strong, I’m seeing how capable I am and there’s an immense sense of support from the trail community. So, hike yourself happy, folks.

If you want to follow more of the day-to-day happenings, follow me on Instagram: @SeeBagsGo

P.s. if you’re wondering why it looks like I’m wearing the same clothes in every single picture. It’s because I am.

Halfway Thoughts

A hiker asked me how it feels to know that I have to do all this over again now that I’ve hit the (historical) halfway point. He sounded defeated as he told me, “for me, it seems crazy that there’s so much more ahead of us.” All I could think about was how exciting it was to understand that there are about 3 months of new views, new struggles and new people ahead of me. So, here are some halfway thoughts about what’s happened so far:

1) I smile more when the weather is bad

There was a day and a half of a wild storm, so a few of us hikers decided to take a zero day in a shelter. Luckily, it was Partnership Shelter, one where the top half was fully enclosed and pizza just happened to deliver to us. We spent the whole day laughing and hanging out as the storm raged on outside. The roof started leaking and we all had to strap together our tarps to create a roof #2. We were in good company with full bellies.

Of course, there were also the Smoky Mountains where there was a foot of snow with thigh-high drifts. I thought about how nice it would’ve been to have my skis with me. We walked 13 miles over the tallest part of the AT and then down to the gap where we planned to hitch into Gatlinburg to resupply for food. The road out of the park at that gap was closed due to the snow storm, and it was coated in snow and black ice. The crew we were with convened in the only shelter at the deserted gap, a heated bathroom. Wallace, Hot Tang, Kyle (Calves) and I decided we would walk down the road into Gatlinburg, an extra 13 miles. The whole time on the hike down, we were slipping and falling. All of a sudden, you’d see poles fly up in the air and a hiker sliding around. Despite the snow pummeling my face at 50 mph, all the falls and my body pain, I couldn’t help but smile or laugh.

More recently, the past 5 days coming into Harper’s Ferry have been plagued with severe thunderstorms and flooding. The trails look like streams, which have proved to make way-finding slightly confusing. Usually, you can follow the path because it’s obvious what the trail is. Now that the trail looks like a stream, there was a time or two where I actually started walking in a real stream instead of the trail. I made it without getting lost, but coming into town I had mud up to my knees and was completely soaked. Some man and his kid at the Appalachian Trail Conservancy headquarters asked me how the weather was. I just laughed and said, “technically, it’s awful. But it was a great hike today!” They definitely looked at me weirdly. But it’s true. Foot stuck ankle-deep in mud, I was still smiling. Granted, some of the trail is now closed and they’ve warned hikers to skip the Maryland section of the trail due to dangerous conditions. So, I’m taking a zero in town to give it some time and will head out tomorrow despite the warnings.

2) I’ve switched from partner hiking to “solo” hiking

It was great to get comfortable with the trail by starting off the adventure with a familiar face. It did allow me to get lazy, if I’m being honest. Mostly because of the fact that I was more relaxed about how quickly I got from place to place. Kyle was more stoked on making miles quickly, so I’d let him decide which shelter he’d want to go to each day. I also piggy backed on his bear hangs 99.9% of the time. I like to call that just being efficient. Why do another hang when two food bags could easily fit on one rope? See below for Chongo and Kyle struggling to do a bear hang for all three of our food bags in a pine forest.

Now that I’m “solo” hiking, I obviously do my own bear hangs and decide which miles I’m going to do when #StrongIndependentWoman. But really, it’s been cool to experience both “solo” hiking and partner hiking. I put solo in quotes because even though I’m not hiking with a set person, I’m never actually alone. There are people around me at every shelter, camp spot or hostel. Everyone hangs out as they cook dinner over their camp stove and swaps stories about the hike so far. Sometimes you’ll hike the same miles and end up hiking with people for a week or so and get a loose trail family going on. It’s really an ebb and flow of the same and new people all the time. I’ve never felt lonely or scared on trail (feel better now, mom?).

Sadly, though, in the Shenandoah National Park, my foot started hurting so I took a few zero days and slack packed for a bit (mom graciously took time out of her schedule to come down and help with that). That means that I let a lot of my friends hike on ahead of me. So, now I’m in a zone where I’m not too familiar with the people around me. I’m bummed to lose the fun hikers I know, but that’s part of the adventure. I’ll meet new people, and I’m sure I’ll catch some of the oldies I got to know in the beginning somewhere down the road.

3) You get to know people very quickly on trail

You’ll hike with someone for three days, but you feel like you know their whole life story. No one is shy about sharing their complex background. It starts out with the “why are you out here?” question, and it all opens up from there.

4) Word travels faster on trail than gossip in a high school

After I got food poisoning, I’d run into people on trail that I hadn’t even seen in a week or so and they’d ask me if I was feeling better.

Or, the way I got my trail name Bags was because the first day I wore my trash bag as a pack cover in the rain, people were talking about how there was “some bag lady” hiking around. Two weeks later, I started hiking with a guy who I guess had seen me that day. It starts to rain, I put on my pack cover and he goes “holy shit, I’m hiking with the bag lady!”

You also read a lot in the shelter log books. So, hikers will get information from those and let other people know what’s going on. For example, someone might write “look out for the rat snake in the shelter, got bit by it last night,” and by the next day most hikers will know who got bit and at what shelter. Don’t worry, that didn’t happen.

5) People are insanely generous

There are people who set up their car with snacks, sometimes a grill and drinks. They’ll sit at where the AT crosses a road and feed the hungry hikers passing through. We love this sort of trail magic. One man I came across was cooking eggs and hash browns with all the fixings to go with them.

Another time, Hot Tang, Kyle and I were in a town and about to call a shuttle service to take us to the trail. A wild looking man spotted us from the road, whipped his car into the parking lot of the hotel we were standing in front of and parked nearly on top of our feet. He stuck his thick beard out of his car window and said, “you guys need a ride to the trail. I’ll take you.” Turns out it was Wokman, a guy who had thru hiked a few years ago.

Navigator, a section hiker from Rhode Island and a volunteer for the Appalachian Mountain Club, saw me in peak agony in Trent’s Convenience store. I was feverish, nauseous and feeling all in all like death. It was going to be freezing cold that night, and I was dreading setting up my tent. Clearly seeing I looked awful, she asked if I was ok. I explained what was wrong, and she drove me to a hostel for a night then made sure I switched to a nicer hostel the next night to wait out the sickness. She was a true angel at that moment. I was in the middle of buying nearly 6 hand warmers to stick on my body for the cold night I had ahead of me.

After a zero day at the nicer hostel, I felt better and booked it 11 miles into Pearisburg to meet up with Kyle and Chongo. I didn’t take any breaks, so I didn’t notice when my tent fell out of my backpack. The next morning, I was packing up my stuff in the town’s motel where I had just slept and realized my tent was gone. I was freaking out. How could I have lost it? That tent is basically my home. I had lost my home. WHAT AN IDIOT. I know I can have my dumb moments, but this was another level. There was really nothing I could do at the moment because there wasn’t an outfitter in town, so we had to keep walking. Kyle wanted to stop at Hardee’s for breakfast (it was on our way to the trail). As he snagged food, I saw a guy I passed on trail the previous day. I asked him about the tent, and a driver from the nearby hostel poked her head out of the car and said, “we have it! Stickers brought it in yesterday.” So, she drove me to Angel’s Rest hostel, Stickers gave me my tent and she drove me back to trail. I’d met Stickers a few times before, so it was cool that someone I knew had saved the day.

I’m ready for these weird, coincidental and fun moments to keep on coming as I walk my way to Katahdin in Maine. Follow me on Instagram for more frequent updates: @SeeBagsGo