A Walk in the Woods

How to get fit hiking the 2,000-mile Appalachian trail

The Appalachian Trail (or 'AT'), between Springer Mountain, Georgia, and Mount Katahdin in Maine, is 2,160 miles long and extends through 14 states. Jeff Alt hiked the entire trail to raise money for the Sunshine Home, a facility for the disabled in Ohio that cares for his brother, Aaron, who has cerebral palsy. In this exclusive extract from his book, A Walk for Sunshine, Alt (trail name 'Wrongfoot' due to an early injury he acquired) describes how hiking over 2,000 miles can leave you fitter than you've ever been before.

Leave the Stress Behind

Flint Mountain Shelter, Tennessee.  March 23, 1998.  303 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia.

Most folks who escape into the woods with a sleeping bag, tent, and basic survival essentials are trying to get away from the daily stress of domestic life; however, stress still was present for me on the trail. Domestic stress of meeting project deadlines or paying bills transformed into the stress of fulfilling basic survival needs. Water availability was my No. 1 concern. I always tried to keep at least two full quarts with me. 

At the end of the day, cooking the evening meal always required water, so I would plan my camp near a water source. Injury had been in the back of my mind since I inherited my trail name, Wrongfoot. Weather had tormented me since the beginning, with bone-chilling temperatures and constant rain, and weather can make or break a hiker’s day. Although I had discovered a simpler lifestyle, I also experienced stress, and if I didn’t handle it properly, it could be just as debilitating in the woods as in the city.    

[My trail friend] Packrat and I were still together. But as usual, we walked with some distance between us, at our own paces, usually only catching each other during breaks and at camp. 

During the course of my day, I took a break at a shelter called Jerry’s Cabin. Like all of the shelters along the AT, Jerry’s Cabin is maintained by trail volunteers. Volunteers check on the shelters frequently, packing out litter, making necessary repairs, and keeping a journal and register available for hikers. The volunteer of Jerry’s Cabin had a sense of humour. While resting inside the shelter, eating a Cliff bar, my eyes were drawn to the sidewall. Above the fireplace, a mailbox, light fixture, and telephone were attached to the stone wall. None of these domestic amenities actually served a functional purpose other than reminding hikers of some of the luxuries that we were doing without.

Later that evening, I hiked to the next shelter. Packrat was already there. While I prepared dinner, I heard several voices approaching. A group of 15 college students appeared in front of the shelter. Thru-hikers become dependent on the string of shelters along the trail. Three weeks on the trail had ingrained a sense of ownership for shelter space.  Although they technically are for use by everyone, an unwritten rule on the AT is that thru-hikers get preference. Shelters along the trail were our footpath hotels from Georgia to Maine. They were a home for the night.

You don’t need a degree in forestry to realise the damage a large group can cause. A group of more than ten hikers is bad for the trail. It’s like cattle grazing in one spot of a pasture, not to mention the obvious factor of all those voices infiltrating the serenity. Needless to say, we were a bit apprehensive of our instant battalion of neighbours.

The shelter accommodated only eight, so several from the group pitched tents. Some of the students were quite friendly and curious about our expeditions. This co-ed group had escaped to the woods from a college in South Carolina. They stayed up talking into the wee hours of the night, not allowing us much sleep. To make matters worse, several coyotes closed in on the shelter, howling in the night. A coyote howl sounds like a hurt dog yelping. This created quite a stir with the college group. 

I was not a pleasant person in the morning after several rude awakenings from laughing, yelling, and coyote howls throughout the night. I sat in my sleeping bag, sipping my coffee, hoping that the caffeine would supplement the lack of sleep. The group was miserable from several days of cold, sleet, and rain. The group leader mentioned that the group was hiking south and had planned on staying at Jerry’s Cabin. They asked me about the trail south of here. I described the terrain and showed them a profile map. I explained all of the fine qualities of the Jerry’s Cabin Shelter. 

“Jerry’s Cabin has a telephone, a night light, and a mailbox if you want to send a letter,” I told them. To convince them, I showed them The Thru-Hikers Handbook, which makes mention of these amenities as well. The group mounted their packs, and the last thing I heard as they were walking off was, “I think I’ll call my mom.” A grin split my face.  What will they think of Wrongfoot when they arrive at Jerry’s Cabin?

Over the Hump

Damascus, Virginia. March 31, 1998. 452 miles from Springer Mountain, Georgia.
   
Thirty days had passed since I left my family in Georgia to trek north. Crossing into Virginia signified my fourth state on the trail. It is said that a month on the trail refines the body to physically handle the entire length. Although I had constant aches and pains, I was now in the best shape of my life.   

Supposedly, the miles of levelled-off ridges in Virginia would be easier for hiking.  Approaching Damascus gave me a preview of what was to come. The terrain levelled off after I climbed onto a ridge. Other than periodic ups and downs, the trail was much more forgiving than it had been in Georgia and North Carolina. Packrat, another thru-hiker named Hungry Bear, and I were so excited to make it to Virginia that we walked 30 miles into the night using headlamps. We wanted to get as close as we could to Damascus so that the next morning we would have a leisurely 10-mile stroll down the mountain into town… 

The trail wound down the mountain, beneath an arch welcoming us to Damascus, and along Main Street. Damascus is well known among hikers as the friendliest town along the trail. Every year, Damascus holds a festival for hikers…

The trail follows the usual white blazes through town past Mount Rodgers Outfitter and on the way to the hostel…Outfitters along the trail are well informed about who has passed through and of any upcoming issues with terrain, trail, or weather…

I checked into a hostel called The Place, run by the United Methodist Church…I noticed a scale in the dining area. Curiosity led me over. One foot up, and then the other. Wow! Fifteen pounds less than I weighed 30 days ago. Though my appetite had increased enormously, I could not seem to eat enough to replenish the calories. A thick, juicy steak had been on my mind for several days. There was no chophouse in town, so I ventured to the grocery store. My shopping cart filled with charcoal, two pounds of New York strip steak, potatoes, and two big aluminum throwaway baking pans. All the way back to the hostel, I practically danced a jig knowing that I was going to eat steak.

A Walk for Sunshine is published by Dreams Shared Publications and available from Amazon.

For more information, visit: jeffalt.com