Preparation

For many, the idea of walking over two thousand miles seems insane. For others, it is a life-long dream. For me, it was a bit of both- and in March of 2011 the urge to get out there and hike overtook any reservations I might have had, and I set out on a long-distance hiking trip on the Appalachian Trail. If this wasn’t challenging enough, I made this adventure an experiment: to see if I could successfully live-blog the trip armed with only an iPhone.

Not only did I want to turn my passion for web design into a project to share, but I also wanted to chronicle my experiences. Every hike is different, as they say, and mine would be no exception. At the time, I was 37 years old, a type 1 diabetic for 13 years, and a vegetarian. I was undaunted. My trail mates would be of all ages, from all walks of life, and hiking for a number of reasons.

Obviously, different hikes need different gear- and my plans for this experiment meant that in addition to selecting supplies and gear, planning meal drops, and how to leave my “real life” at home, I now needed to set up a website and a blog.

A place to leave memories.

I toyed with ideas of how to post from the trail that might weigh less than others. The iPhone, after all, weighs in at 4.8 ounces on its own, plus batteries and charger.

On the trail, every ounce is sacred. In the end, the iPhone seemed to be a better method for recording this experience than paper and pens, which might be ruined in rain, or need to be mailed someone for typing. Even worse, I’d have to rely on Internet cafes in rural trail towns. I chose WordPress for the blog, which, conveniently, has an iPhone app. To simplify text editing and keep track of notes, I used SimpleNote by Codality. Typing blog entries that were often around 4,000 words on an iPhone was not fun, but certainly possible. I found that I actually got used to it. Spellcheck kept errors to a minimum (usually), but editing long posts was excruciating!

After the host and means of upload was chosen, I carefully mapped out the topics that would best please my target readership: fellow hikers, and the people at home that would be following my progress. There was an “About Me” page, to briefly describe who I am and why I’m doing this. Also, with an app called InstaMapper GPS Tracker (by InstaMapper), I created a page entitled “Where am I?” which displayed a Google map of my current location that I could update anytime from the trail. To satisfy the curiosity of hiker and non-hiker alike, the “What I’m carrying” page listed everything with me along with its weight. Since a large part of the hike would be beautifully scenic, I created a “Pictures” page so that with Google’s Picasa, using MyPics by Uvento LLC to upload the images to my Picasa folder, my friends at home could see the landscape as it unfolded before me.

My blog’s main page contained each entry I composed in reverse chronological order. Entries were made approximately every two weeks, as long as there was signal strength and battery power. During those times, I’d also call home and check for posted comments to approve, as I was able. As for battery life, which I feared would present a problem, I brought along a small charger that I’d built from a kit. This charger was called the MintyBoost. It used four AA batteries and fit in an Altoids tin. On the outside it had a USB port, which meant that I could charge my Kindle as well, using a retractable charger. The entire thing, with batteries, weighed less than 4 ounces. I never saw another hiker with one of these, and it started quite a few conversations along the trail. To prevent damage from the elements, I kept it with its associated cables and extra batteries in a Ziploc bag. The iPhone itself stayed in its own Ziploc bag, in a pocket on the waist belt of my backpack. This entire setup worked extremely well, and although I came close a few times, I never actually ended up with a dead iPhone.

Reliable cell service proved to be a different story altogether. There were days, and occasionally weeks, when I would have no service at all except for brief periods on the tops of mountains. During those moments, I’d eagerly check my phone again and again in the hopes of getting enough service to post something, check my email or possibly call home.

It meant that I often had to record blog entries and upload them later under a canopy of trees or a larger trail town. Of course, when I came across a computer that I could use, such as in a library, I took advantage of it- saving the current post as a Google Doc.

You can’t take it with you, unless you actually need it

Imagine for a moment that you’re going to spend the next six months of your life living out of a bag you must carry on your back. If that sounds dramatic, remember that you’re not sitting still; you’ll be climbing mountains ranging up to 7,000 feet. And then climbing back down, and up the next one.

Do you bring a battery-operated toothbrush, hair conditioner and body wash? Your favorite hardcover novel? A mattress? No, you carry as little as possible, and the lightest of everything you can find. The technical part of the planning with its relevance to my academic studies at the time took a great deal of energy, but the expedition required more than comparing the weights of batteries. (Energizer Lithium Batteries, for the record, were the winners there… at two oz. for a set of two AA’s.)

Consider only very basic living essentials, never mind comfort: you need shelter from the elements in any condition, clothing that’s functional, food and a way to prepare it, and medical and emergency supplies. Having hiked frequently in my life and previously completing a 450-mile AT hiking trip, I was fortunate to have some idea of what I could salvage from my supplies and where improvements could be made. With the aid of seemingly every outfitter and sporting goods shop in Connecticut and the many helpful employees therein, plus countless product reviews and comparisons later, I believed that I could make the trip averaging about thirty pounds in my pack.

To keep within my budget, I examined my pack from previous hikes: it could be recycled. The Granite Gear Vapor Trail had served me well; weighs less than 3 lbs. empty, and I knew it to be comfortable. Plus, I owned accessory pockets and knew the best places to carry what I needed. From my prior experience with it, and from hearing the complaints of other owners, the expandable collar that opens at the top was just extra weight. Yes, it’s only an ounce or two, but it was also inconvenient, so I asked my girlfriend to move its drawstring several inches lower.

The shelter I had used previously, the Six Moon Designs Gatewood Cape, might have been sufficient, but there were several things lacking. While it weighed less than 6 oz., it was kind of cramped. It also lacked a floor, which meant that bugs could get in, and I’d have to bring along another bit of equipment that I had: the Outdoor Research Bug-Bivy. The Bug-Bivy is sort of a mesh enclosure that you put your sleeping bag and pad into, and it protects you from bugs, but it in itself weighed a pound. On the other hand, the Gatewood Cape functions as raingear as well as a shelter, which meant that I would need to get both a pack cover and raingear. But I decided to upgrade. Since I trusted the manufacturer, I chose the Six Moon Designs Lunar Solo. This also relied on a hiking pole, but offered much more privacy, comfort and bug resistance.

I also knew that the perfect sleeping bag would keep me comfortable in cooler, elevated climates. Luckily, an REI opened nearby where I acquired a Halo 25. This bag was on sale, and was down-filled, so it would be both warm and light. For my sleeping pad, I chose the very light Klymit Inertia X Frame. This packed down to the size of a soda can, because, when inflated, it had huge open areas. The inflated parts provide surface only where the user needs it (hips, shoulders and head) and saves material in places where ergonomically the body wouldn’t use it.

Since the hike would take about six months, I’d need clothes warm enough for the cool of the Georgia Mountains in spring and New England’s bitterly cold nights in October. Also, I’d need something light enough to move and perspire in, without being oppressive. I found all of these things, to be carried in phases, shipped home or sent in a mail drop depending on my needs. For rainy days, I found a lightweight anorak type jacket that had a built in “hump” which fit over my pack. I would, of course, still get wet, but my supplies would stay dry and I would be insulated for most of my days.

The hardest part of my gear selection was picking the perfect boots. Just as every hike is different, and every person, so are their feet. If there’s anything a hiker wants to be in functioning order, it’s their only mode of transportation. Days, or weeks, lost to injuries, infections, or general muscle fatigue brought on by the wrong shoes were, or should be, 100% preventable. I’d gone through two pairs of Vasque Sundowners, which for a long time were the quintessential hiking boot for AT thru-hikers, but in the last few years Vasque has moved their manufacturing facilities from Italy to China, with an unfortunate (and drastic) decrease in quality. I tried a few pairs for a while, determining whether they pinched here or squeezed there. If a pair slid too much on my heel it would clearly provide me with unwanted blisters; ergo, it simply would not do. I’m not unsure that I didn’t try every maker that exists in the United States. In the end, I read about a pair from L.L. Bean that someone had hiked the entire AT in. This is almost entirely unheard of, with most hikers going through two or three pairs of boots.

As I’ve mentioned, I’m an insulin dependent diabetic, and a vegetarian, which made food preparations tricky. Most “camp meals” have dehydrated meat products, and almost all of them contain high amounts of carbs. Snickers candy bars, a hiker staple because of low cost, high protein and plenty of calories to burn, are a necessity for people like me, because the body needs the fuel. The 4.5 oz. weight of the blood testing computer and the cost of the test strips glared at me from my list of supplies. After 13 years, I felt I could generally tell when it’s time for insulin, or something sweet to bring my sugar back up. With a stock of high carb dinners and plenty of Snickers bars in my provisions, I was more worried about my blood sugar getting too high. I packed both my long lasting and short lasting insulin bottles in a plastic eyeglass case, with a syringe. My confidence in self-analysis would prove a bad idea, for reasons I did not foresee.

Other pieces of gear came into place from other sources. The odd little “Packafeather” alcohol stove, which weighed in at less than two ounces. My trusty Outdoor Research Seattle Sombrero, with its extra-wide brim in back to keep the rain off my neck, and which shielded my eyes from sun and rain. A pen-sized water purifier, called the Steri-Pen. The perfect lightweight everything came to me by and by. By the time I’d decided, for certain, to bring my 8.9 oz. Kindle, with its month-long battery life and 1,000 books loaded for something to read, it seemed time to pack everything beside my hiking poles and look forward to departure.

I had tended to the aspects of my life that would remain stationery. My car insurance had a lapse scheduled, so I wouldn’t have to worry about paying for it while hiking. Backup supplies stocked shelves where groceries would have waited, to be mail dropped as requested. My girlfriend, who would use my apartment as an office while I was gone, would look after Thomas, my cat.

All clichés about the great outdoors aside, I could not have been more excited. Optimistic? Perhaps, but nowhere in my being existed what I’d call pessimism. Only one in ten people who attempt it each year finish the 2,181-mile hike. I knew that. But I also knew that people had done this hike that were much older and much more out of shape. People with less experience, the blind, the shoeless, even children. The ones who don’t finish don’t set out thinking about not finishing. They set out thinking of the glory of sleeping under the stars, of roughing it in a way that perhaps their ancestors had done, and getting a story, and lifelong memories. I expected to finish, but I knew whatever happened, that this would be something I’d enjoy no matter what.

The last step in transitioning from the real world to very real, very gritty world of the AT was deciding what I’d be called. If I was going to accomplish my goal, I was going to need to do it at the right pace. Not physically, some days would be better than others as far as my actual speed.

I knew I would need to do this one-day at a time. Step by step, until each new obstacle presented itself to be overcome. Step by step, as each new beautiful sight was appreciated, fulfilling my love for hiking the long wooded pathway that is the Appalachian Trail. I’d be damned if I would rush through an experience that many only dream about.

So, when I was dropped off at the approach trail at Amicalola Falls State Park to begin my walk of over 2,000 miles: I became “No Hurry.”