Reminiscing the credit to Walking Home

I am taking a momentary break from my AT section hike post, instead I am going to delve into another aspect of my "walking home"...this time it is about someone who plays a very distinctive role, its someone who taught me at a young age to work hard and what it takes to be a man, in essence he gave me the strength to walk. 

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Reminiscing on the good times...

My grandad is there with me on every walk home.  He has taught me many values and has given me many life lessons.   I am sure when he was teaching me these valuable life lessons he wasn't leaning on the fact that I would quit my career in the academic world and pursue a life of outdoor pursuits, or maybe he did?

AT trail head in North Carolina

Let me explain...you see my grandfather was more than a grandparent to me, I was barely a few months old when my parents divorced and for more than a couple years my grandad was the only adult male in my life, later my mom met my step-father, whom was very good to us (even though he fathered my three half brothers, they are for another story).   

My grandad taught me how to cast a fishing reel, shoot a gun, garden, use the bathroom outside, and even how to drink whiskey!

"Oh my gosh "T" (this is the nick name for TC that my family uses, like TC isn't short enough) I cannot believe he said that, never mind him he is just telling a story."  That sentence and several more like it used to come out of my moms, grandmothers, and aunts mouths like second nature, they were used to it, starting at the ripe old age of four I would come up with some grand stories.  When we would visit my Granny in Nashville I would always end up in the middle of some grown-up conversation between my Grandad and Uncle Bob.  Fault to both of them, I ended up telling a lot of "grown-up" stories at a very young age.  One story in particular was when I used to go hunting with my grandad, after a long day in the field we would head back to camp and settle down to a good glass of whiskey.  No...I never drink whiskey with my grandad (at least not at that age), I just made it up to tell people, like any other young lad who wanted to be like his idles, I adopted their stories and put my twist to them.  One that probably got my grandad in trouble goes like this; my grandmother was pushing me through a department store, sitting in the cart I would call every woman we passed a bitch, while my grandmother calmly said "No T that's not a ditch, a ditch is outside."   I'm sure my grandfather had to suffer for that one later that evening! 

Me, my aunts, mom, and grandparents

My grandad is a big time fisherman and his bass boat has paved a lot of life lessons for me.  Two particular lessons have a permanent file in my memory bank.
One summer day when I was knee high to a grasshopper (5 or 6 years old) my grandad and I were on KY Lake bass fishing.  I had been hounding him the past couple fishing trips about wanting to go swimming, so that day he granted my wish.  You see, I had been swimming before, just always in a crystal clear pool where the bottom was visible.  Deductive reasoning was not yet a part of my critical thinking skills, so I assumed I would touch the bottom of this lake.  Wrong...with life vest on and a rope tied to me my grandad gives me a toss!  The rush of flying through the air was like no other, but abrubtly came to a end when I hit the murky water.  Immediately the clear blue sky turned a greenish brown, my scream instantly evolved to bubbles,  I had just discovered the hard way that this lake had no bottom!  Before true panic could sink in, my grandad hoisted me from the murky abyss and at last I was saved.  It took a few more years before I had enough courage to get back in that water, the boat was fine for now.

Fishing is by far my grandads favorite, March 2012

Fast forward a few years later, maybe five or so, my Uncle Randy and My  Grandad were going stripe fishing on the Cumberland River.  I wanted to go so bad, ignoring the warnings my uncle and grandad gave me about how cold it would be.  February smebruary, I didn't care...I wanted to go with them.  Maybe a hour later at the max, they were driving me back to the boat ramp to meet my grandmother.  I jumped out of the boat and ran for the car, telling my grandmother "it's too cold out there Mama*...my pee pee froze!"
Now in my adult life I try to think before I act, I do my best to adhere to others warning's.  Luckily for me the bottom fell out and I froze at a critical moment early in my life, lets just hope I remember these lessons for now on.

As you can tell, my grandad(who we call Papa*) is a major player in my life.  In literally every decision I make, I always ask myself what he would do or what he will think.  Not always does it keep me from making the stupid mistake's I continue to make, but I am always proud to make a right decision knowing that he lead me there.

*For those politically correct and to my aunts...the spelling is Papaw/Mamaw, but I have always spelled it differently for no known reason. 

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A Fine Turkey Hunt...

Spring of 2012 produced a memory worthy writing down.  Tennessee Turkey season had opened and the shared ritual that my grandad and I had shared for the last 14 years continued.

Saturday morning we awoke, drank coffee and discussed exactly how we were going to hunt the birds we had been seeing the previous days.  Dressed from head to toe in a fine mixture of camoflauge we headed out the door, my grandad lives on his beef farm, so we literally headed out the back door in the pre-dawn darkness.
I am not sure how long it has taken me to come to this realization, but that morning was the icing on the cake.  Standing by my truck I loaded the gun, waiting for my grandad to put on his boots.  I handed him the gun and he asked "are you not carrying a gun?"  I responded that I was not, "I have the video camera, and besides if you shoot just hand me the gun and I will take the next one that walks by!"  To me hunting is not all about killing; its a genetic code in men, one that has not evolved in me...it is still primeval.  No, we are no longer the hunter/gather "generation" in the sense that most define, but I deeply feel if I do not get my fix that I will starve myself of that inert trait that God so graciously gave me. Like President Roosevelt, I draw no distinction between myself and any other forest predator.   Plus its very comforting to know that I can walk into the woods, and come home with food (FYI...wild turkey is some of the most delicious meat ever consumed in my home, and I have access to some of the best farm raised beef you can get your hands on).

As we settled down next to a large pig nut hickory tree, the twilight was surrendering to the morning dawn.  The faint purplish hue that outlined the white stars was fading and the song birds were letting each other know they made it through another wild night, what an absolute beautiful ritual to a part of. Then it happened!  What every turkey hunter wants to hear, a thunderous gobble!  He was the king of the forest that morning and wanted every one to know it, the spring mating ritual was fully underway.

This Tom was not the only bird vocal that morning, there were a few other "wanna-be" kings in the woods too, plus the cackling hens (no pun intended to me female friends) that wanted to let everyone know they were awake and ready for the day as well.  Even if you are not a hunter, I strongly encourage everyone to make at least one trip to the woods one April morning.  To hear it come alive is like nothing else, its miraculous awakening is truly wild.

Multiple tours of Vietnam made him a man, so I listen when he speaks

We waited a few minutes to figure out what the turkeys were going to do.  I decided to make a few yelps and a fly down cackle to coax the turkeys our direction.  Unfortunately we were overrun with ample hens and subordinate toms/jakes that the turkeys went down the hill opposite of us.  We then spent the next two hours or so trying our luck at intercepting this group with no luck of getting one within range.  Though that first morning was not wasted on a tag, it was another chapter of fond memories with me and my favorite hunting partner, Papa.

We spent the rest of the day doing farm chores and discussing the plan for the next morning.  True, we could have spent the entire day hunting and doing everything possible to get a turkey within range, but hunting is only part of our fun.  Instead we worked and talked, just like we have for the past 14 years.

Sunday morning came and the scene mirrored the previous morning.  This time we were set-up in a different location, in a clump of white oaks between the woods the turkeys were roosting in and the hayfield.  The woods were alive and the turkeys were too.  I set-up a couple decoys and made a few calls to let the birds know are location then we waited.

The wait was not too long, as within 45 minutes of the sun lighting the sky the turkeys had flown down and started to make there way to us.  First was a group of a dozen or more hens with a small jake in tow.  The moved past us just out of range, giving the decoys very little thought.  We stayed silent and motionless so they would feed past us, because within hearing distance and just beyond the rise we heard gobbling.  Not just one either but multiple birds competing for dominance.  Possibly yesterday during the middle of the day, a few toms got together to "strut" their stuff you might say.  In the middle of trying to establish dominance sun started to set and they were forced to roost in the same area, of course this was not a hard decision for the new Toms as there were ample hens roosting in nearby trees as well. Another possible reason for the new Toms in the neighborhood is that a predator, such as a coyote, came through in the later hours of the day or even dark, which forced the birds to move.  Regardless we now had 4 nice mature Toms headed our direction!


As the Toms crested the rise they immediately took inventory of the new Tom (our decoy) and did not like the fact that he had a hen (our other decoy) with him.  The next 5 minutes brings a whole new meaning to "Tom Foolery", these birds came strutting in and gobbling their heads off.  They basically walked into our laps.  We quietly discussed what might be the biggest bird and my grandad got ready.  As the biggest bird walked in the middle of the decoys I clucked, immediately he stuck his head up to see what was wrong.  The 12 gauge 3.5" super mag turkey load had already laid him to rest before he could blink, the shot was quick and clean.  Before I could get excited and start the high five's my grandad handed me the gun.  One of the Toms was still around and on his way to flock (or should we say beat a man while he is down) the other Tom while he was down.  Much to his surprise it didn't end that way.  Me and my grandad had just doubled on two mature turkeys, a hard feat to accomplish let alone with only one gun.

The two love struck Toms

We high fived and laughed with excitement as we made our way to check out our prize.  Yes we get excited, but we also give thanks to nature and its creator for giving us this opportunity.  We did our part in  modern wildlife science and now it was time for the critter to do its part, deep fried turkey breast strips with sweet chili dipping sauce is the creme de la creme in the wild game department.

Another spring in the books, man I cannot wait until this fall to get back out in the woods with him as our black powder tradition is just right around the corner.

He served over 20 plus years in the Armed Service, multiple tours to Vietnam.  Stationed throughout the world and retired as a Sergeant Major.  Helped raise three awesome daughters and has been blessed with three son in-laws and seven grandsons and one great-grandson.  Married to the love of his life for over 50 years and still loves her like it was their first year.  He is 68 years old, still working a full time job and has no plans of slowing down.  Man do I have a lot to live up too! 

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Is home where the heart is?

Sitting in Cody, WY, waiting on my laundry to finish, I am wrapping up this post. This is such a beautiful area, and hopefully I will be able to purchase a residents here one day.  Yes it will be my home, but only when I am there, so establishing a residence is the idea for now.  If home is really where the heart is, then home for me is nomadic yet concrete in the contrary sense.

Angela is not here right now and I am greatly missing her, so part of my heart is with her.  Blogging about my grandad has me missing him right now as well, wishing he could be here with me spending time in this beautiful part of our country, instead him and my grandmother are on a Caribbean Cruise!  

 However, my heart still craves for more adventure.  So Yellowstone, the Great Plains, and Big Horns will be my home for now.  Where I'm walking to right now is desolate of people, wild mustangs that are free from domestication and still carry on their ancestral roots, where humans are just above equal on the food chain against the grizzly and wolf, where tiny fractures in the earths crust allow the great forces of the worlds core to slowly release pressure and form hot springs and geysers.  Lewis and Clark once walked through here on their journey home, I find it an honor to do the same. 

My home for a few nights in the Big Horn Basin of WY.  The Beartooth Mountains are in the far distant horizon, beyond that is the majestic Yellowstone. 

Springer Mountain Fright Night!

Gasping for air, giving every ounce of energy he had to to fill his lungs!  Then silence…was it over, what should I do?  The silence was broken, this time the gasping had evolved into a deep rumble that took control over the cool thin air.  The rumble peaked then idled to a low wheezing, slowly making its way back to silence, abruptly he gasped again!  He was alive, but I must do something before its to late. 
I wasn't exactly sure where the noise was coming from, I tried to reposition so that I could get a precise location but I was stuck, my arms felt strapped to my side and my vision was blurry.  The blur slowly gave way to a empty darkness with a faint outline of a purples hue in the distance.  The darkness had a stench of musk, still slightly damp.  I tried to wipe away the sweat that threatened to hamper what vision I had regained but my hands were no use, my arms were still strapped to my side.  Numbness had taken over the function of my legs too, I was trapped!  

Springer Mountain Shelter, 3,733', is the first shelter headed NOBO on the AT

Whatever had gotten to him had me trapped, perhaps for later enjoyment.  I must break free, escape, nervously I contemplated the situation.  Sweat was building, there was no time to think, I must act.  Then silence again, was that his last attempt to save himself or was it some sick game being played on him, or were I being teased?  Almost instantly the rumble was back, this time I could tell it came from a different location, from a different source…it was another person!  Whatever sick morbid game that was being played was enough, I wanted out, I did not want to be a part of this, I did not want to contribute to the noise! 
The rumble continued, this time with the gasping making its way back into the noise pollution.  This erie noise compilation was too much for me, I had to do something and quickly.  With all the force I could find I freed my arms, wiped the sweat from my eyes, along with what blurriness was left and quickly I sat up.

The seasoned hardwood planked floor silenced the fall of my headlamp, how did that get here?  I reached for it in the darkness, identifiable by the reflection of the lens from the faint ambient light.  As I grabbed the light I instinctively turned it on, lying there beside me on the floor were my hiking boots, the metal loop reflecting the green lamp of my light.  I moved the light a little to the left, something else caught my attention.  Folded neatly beside them were my clothes, from my memory those were the last articles of clothing I remember wearing.  I immediately shined the light on my chest, I was wearing my tan long sleeve polymer shirt and my nike polymer shorts.  How did I get in these, who did this, why was I here, the noises…what about the noises?  Why were my arms trapped, what had caused my legs to become numb?  Nervous, on the verge of panic, I noticed something else familiar, it was my sleeping bag and I was in it!  Before my mind had the chance to go completely crazy, I reached for my water bottle to clear my raspy throat.  Sitting upright quenching my thirst it hit me…I was dreaming!  I was sound asleep on top of Springer Mountain, in the first of many shelter's on the Appalachian Trail.  Completely distraught on why I would have a nightmare on the trail, I raked my brain to understand what had caused this.  Was it a thriller flick I had watched during one of my sleepless nights back home? Sitting there, trying to remember what lead me to dream about being trapped in a remote log building while two people across from me were being tortured, the room irrupted again! Another loud gasp for breath echoed throughout the room!  Immediately following the loud gasp a rumble started, just like before, a different tone, a different location in the room.  I could not believe what was happening, I was not dreaming, this was real...

Scientist say that certain creatures can become synched with one another; fireflies in the Elkmont area of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park can blink in unison to attract mates, schools of  thousands of fish in the ocean can turn exactly at the same time in the same direction to avoid being eaten by sharks.  I didn't need National Geographic to explain to me what was happening, I was witness to one of natures most simple yet complex acts…two brothers snoring in unison!  One with the worse case of sleep apnea I have ever witnessed and the other with a severe dose of asthma.  I could not believe this, I had fallen sound asleep with no problem, unfortunately it was interrupted by an olympic snore off! 

I took advantage of being awake and made a trip to the privy.  The night air was cool and pure, it was my first of a dozen nights to sleep on the trail and if this night was any inclination they would be quit eventful.  I made my way back to the shelter and crawled back into my sleeping bag.  Lying awake I humored myself by playing out what to say the next morning to the two Florida brothers, should I decide whom snored loudest or longest? As I snuggled in my bag they kicked back into synch again, this time their harmony was enough to put me back to sleep.  

Eager and excited the morning after "Fright Night"

Moments, minutes, or  was it hours later I heard a faint noise, not too alarming.  The faint noise became identifiable,  like the sound of soft footsteps, slowly becoming more and more defined.  The louder they got the closer they became.  Then it would stop, silence, then they would start again.  The steps came closer, now I could tell that what creature was causing this had sharp nails, or claws!  The footsteps evolved into a shuffle, the claws became more pronounced and started to pierce what solitude was left, my eternal alarm was becoming more aware now.  It was headed for me!  Whatever this was had by-passed the brothers, possibly headed my way to sink its claws in me, or had it already completed its ritual with the brothers?  Even closer, now I could tell the creature was off the floor, was it walking on the walls?  It was time to react...I must do something, I refuse to let this creature (or dream) take away what sleep I have left.  Thats it!  I finally came too, it was another dream, what was happening to me? If I keep these vivid dreams up I will never get any sleep.  Then I heard the noise, this time over my head, was I dreaming within a dream, no!  I was awake, I pinched myself to make sure.

Ah...low and behold; one of the local residents, a freeloader, a shelter squatter...a mouse!  Of mice and men, I think not. This local resident was scurrying across the top shelf of the shelter, looking for what remnants of food he could find.  Stories of hikers waking the next morning to find holes chewed in their packs are not uncommon.  There was even a thru-hiker once that carried a cat on his pack, the cat slept the day away and hunted all night, needless to say the cat later became a professional hunter.

My first night was eventful to say the least, much to my own imagination.  Sleep finally came and my body rested for the long day ahead.

"From the margin of these glorious forest the first general view of the Valley used to be gained-...a revelation in landscape affairs that enriches one's life forever."  As John Muir made his first visit to Yosemite Valley in the Spring of 1868 he wrote those words, his home was the wild as is mine.  The next morning I felt rejuvenated, fresh, and energized, but it was not from the sleep, it's because I was home.  The soul of my mind is free, not tainted from bitter community as this community (the trail) is sweet, yet unforgiving.  Its raw power is the marker for freedom as the white blazes are the marker for her path.  Let the trail guide you in the direction, and let your wild heart be home.  

Good Bye Wife...Hello Bear!

Who is going to mow the grass and how is my granddad going to get the hay cut?  What if we cannot talk with each other every night! Are you going to be able to handle Hank?   These are just a few of the countless questions Angela (my lovely wife) and I had starting a couple months before I started my section hike, actually these are my questions I had for her!  I was genuinely concerned but I will admit I think deep down I was hoping she would give me a reason not to go.  Luckily she did not, she more portrayed the role of a Drill Sergeant that was responsible for making sure I went than the sulking wife who couldn't spend the two weeks alone without her husband.

My gear laid out in hotel for final inspection

With my gear packed and mail drops ready for Angela to send it was time to head South.  It was June 4th as I picked her up after work, our destination for the night was Chattanooga.  We made reservations at a hotel that night so we could have a leisurely drive both days and a good meal before my hike started.  Ramen and protein bars tend to get old after a couple days, so I made sure dinner and breakfast were not only tasty but provided a calorie reservoir until my first resupply stop on the trail. The meals met their standards but provided something much more, especially dinner.  It gave us both time to sit down and talk.  The conversation continued through diner and a hour or so later we found ourselves sitting on the tailgate of our truck with a  six pack of beer talking about nothing to pressing, it was beautiful and often thought about it while I was hiking (at the end of the day I would eat diner alone, not by choice but rather there was no one to eat with.  It didn't bother me all that much but it did allow me to appreciate those times when I did have company to eat with).  That "last supper" Angela and I shared proved how strong our foundation was with each other, almost seven years of marriage and we are still able to have a date like we are college freshman. That night has stuck with me since...the only thing I would change is I will not eat Mexican prior to a long distance hike!

Entrance to Amicalola Falls State Park, Georgia

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The next morning we awakened to one thing any hiker does not look forward too...rain!  Rain or shine I was going and Angela made sure I didn't chicken out, but her choice of words were a little more convincing.  We ate breakfast to help kick off the rainy two hour drive to Amicalola Falls State Park in Georgia.

Me at the famous arch on the approach trail

Since I decided I was going to be a purest I choose to take the 8.8 mile approach trail, the AT Southern Terminus officially starts at the summit of Springer Mountain.   An alternative route is accessible by Forest Service road 42 via Big Stamp Gap, you then back track the 1.1 mile to the summit.  I say to hell with the purist...my explanation follows shortly.  Registered, pictures taken, water bottles filled, and multiple good bye hugs to Angela and I was off.  It took all of 10 steps to realize how much I was going to miss Angela so I turned around to wave one last time, and there she stood in the drizzling rain watching me head up the trail.  That's when it hit me...the gut wrenching feeling deep down that throbs through your body and weakens you entirely.  After several deep breaths to ease the "pain" I gathered enough strength to turn around and head North, at which point I wiped away the  salty rain that ran down my cheek.  As much as I appreciated the diner and time spent the night before this was the bitter sweetness.

My walk home had started but something was missing already.  If she could have been there with me my journey may have never ended.  If she was not a part of me my journey would have no purpose.  But she was there and she is a part of me, she is my strength and purpose, the heart of my home and we are on the journey together.

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Amicalola Falls

"The hell with a purist!"  Luckily the rain muffled my echo.  Do a google search on the AT approach trail and you will see two stately differing opinions on this trail.  One is of those who carry 40 lbs of weight on their back and the other is of those whom are day hiking with little to no pack.  Then of course you have the purist AT thru hiker, which I have concluded is not a purist because the AT is blazed with white paint strips and this trail is blue blazed!  When I do set out to start my thru hike I can assure you I will start as close to the AT Southern Terminus as I possibly can.  One guy even parachuted in,  his trail name was Jump Start for obvious reasons,  I guess he didn't favor the approach trail either.

Robert Plant of Led Zeppelin did not hike this trail to be inspired for "Stairway to Heaven", true this trail did gain elevation but it was complete agony!  OK, it wasn't all that bad but they don't sell a shirt at the Parks visitor center that simply states..."I survived the 604 steps".  The climb up makes me think of the saying one of my old baseball coaches would tell us "no pain no gain", he must have been referring to this trail because once you made it up the first 200 or so steps you get a fantastic view of the falls.

604 steps later, I'm taking the shirts word on it, I finally made it up out of the gorge.  Much to my surprise a parking lot filled with cars appeared, I had no energy to cuss them so I continued on my way.

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It was now time for the 7 mile stretch to the summit.  The walking was relatively easy and the rain finally let up.  After 2 miles or so I begin to think about Angela and of course start to worry about her trip home.  For some reason my mind wonders to the song played for our first dance.  Admittedly it took me a minute to remember what the song was and once I did it was obvious why I was thinking it, Andy Griggs "She thinks she needs me".  The difference between now and almost 7 years ago when we first danced to that song is I'm sure she knows now how much I need her.

Approach trail plaque

Another mile or so singing this song and other songs I could barely remember the lyrics to, I stop in my tracks!  You see one of the first things you read about when entering bear country is to make your presence known, a surprised unannounced encounter with a bear can sometimes lead to problems. If you surprise a sow black bear with cubs she can get defensive and if you are in Grizzly country and are unfortunate enough to surprise one of those giants you could become lunch.  For me I stumble upon a 350 boar, not even 4 miles into my trip and I already have a bear encounter.  I immediately search for something, anything, a rock would have been nice.  But no I pick up a stick, so I start waving it in the air and bang it against a tree.  Mr. Bear takes a break from sniffing the ground, looks at me, and goes back to his business.  No big deal right?  Wrong!  The only way for me to get to the summit is to walk where he is standing and that is not part of my plan.  So I quickly start to brainstorm and remember our trip to Yellowstone in 2010 where we stumbled into a grizzly and wolf feeding zone.  Earlier we had decided to hike with a group from Montana, which one of the hikers had made fun of my bear bells.  I politely kept my mouth shut while she yelled out "Woot Woot" every turn or dip in the trail.  I wasn't sure if it was my bells or her annoying woot's but we did not encounter any bears, despite all the elk carcasses laying beside the trail.  Back to my current bear stare down...he has not moved yet and my loud stomping, banging, and even yelling is not budging this dude.  With no bear bells this time, in fear partly of being made fun of, I yell out loud "woot woot".  Immediately the bear looks up and gracefully walks down the mountain, if you have ever been to a zoo and the keeper rings the diner bell and all animals walk to their cage, this is exactly how this bear acted.  "Woot Woot" must be some kind of code in the bear whisper world?  Having felt like a true naturalist I continue up the mountain.

Not even 100 yards around the bend and I come to a dirt forest road.  There sitting on a log is a young couple laughing, stopping as soon as they see me.  Oblivious to their amusement I ask if they had seen the bear, after a short pause the young lady informed me not only had they seen the bear but had heard my "woot woot's".  Embarrassed at this point, I simply pointed out that I did not have any bear bells and for them to enjoy the rest of their afternoon. Hopefully she will benefit from my karma one day as well.

The last mile or so is a true assent up Springer Mt, starting at the archway near the park office the elevation is 1700' and the summit of Springer is 3782' ,with the last 1.5 miles gaining about 500 feet.  Before the last major assent you pass  Black Gap shelter, and lucky for me I was not staying the night there.  Every boy scout in Georgia must have been camping there that night.  I waved and pushed on while briefly warning of the human friendly bear, surely they slept well that night.

After another 1/2 mile I was more thankful to be camping on top of Springer.  I must have passed eight more troops and a couple more leaders, all with the same desperate question and dreadful look on their face..."mister, how far until the next shelter?"  After leaving the last group fearful of bears I couldn't do the same to these young troops, so after giving them hope that shelter is within reach they would pick up pace and at which point their bear bells would become active.  It sounded like all eight of Santa's reindeer running down the mountain, I paused for a second to see if I could hear the faint call of "woot woot" with no avail.

Southern Terminus for a North Bound Hiker, Springer Mt.  Notice the white blaze, this  will be my marker from here on out

At last!  The summit of Springer, the Southern Terminus of the Appalachian Trail, home of the first North bound white blaze.  More than 1,500 hikers stand in this location every March-May with hopes of completing one of the longest continuous trails in the world, currently 2181 miles from here to Mt Katahdin in Main.  Of these 1500 plus hikers only about 1 in 4 will finish, I stood there motionless, except for chugging my water, thinking about those hikers.  I had set out to hike 200, that was intimidating enough.

Springer Mountain Summit, the morning after I made my summit

I was not the only hiker there that afternoon.  Sitting on the summit already were a couple from Southern Mississippi on vacation and two brothers from Florida.  After hiking 3.5 hours alone it was nice to know I was going to share a shelter with other hikers.  Sitting silently on the rock face of Springer trying to catch a glimpse of the southern most portion of the Appalachian Mountains one of the brothers decides to break the silence, "What did you do today he said aloud, he responded to his question...we walked over 8 miles to the top of a mountain to get a birds eye view of clouds"  He was right, in a sense, the rain had stopped but the clouds had settled in.  We all decided to head the .2 miles north to Springer Mt shelter to set up camp before night fall.  I followed suite with plans to get up early and head back to the summit to capture the vista that so many hikers pass every day.

I had officially completed my first day of walking home, though tough and wet the walk was spectacular.  Douglas Brinkley once described President Theodore Roosevelts beliefs on Darwinism as a belief in a Creator but the natural world was a series of accidents, and that humans played a role to protect its wonders.  I agree with Teddy mostly, but I can assure you it was no accident that I stood on top of Springer as that was home for the night.

The birth of "Walking Home"


On June 5, 2012 I set out on a 200 plus mile journey on the Appalachian Trail, commonly known as the AT.  This is my first true "section" hike with hopes to complete a thru-hike.  You will walk with me from Amicola Falls State Park in Georgia to the Great Smoky Mountain National Park, but the walk is only part of this great journey!  I will share stories of hikers I marched with along the way, wildlife encounters, scenic vistas, and my most memorable thoughts (spending up to 10 plus hours a day alone can really get a individual to think about his life's purpose).

Walking home is the only means possible

Albeit I will spend many of these blogs depicting my AT experience, but it is my ambition to illustrate "Walking Home".  My "Walking Home" was just discovered on the trail, yet it has been in my blood and soul since conception.  My home is more than four walls; it's the hills of Tennessee, the valleys of Yellowstone, granite monoliths that tower above Yosemite, chilled creek waters, watching the woods come to life in the morning, and a memory of times past and a glimpse into the future.


The following words describe why I indulged in natures wonders, this is what I thought after my last 7 days on the trail with a couple weeks to contemplate what I did...


"This is my journey of hiking and other outdoor pursuits, it is gifted in the fact that I believe home is but a metaphor fused in the essence of living.  Home is where the heart is, I am a gypsy for natural beauty and feed off natures purist senses. Slumbering under the canopy of giant poplars or a blanket of stars.  Awakening to and with the sun and all things that rise with it; the morning dew, singing warblers, and the thunderous roar of the wild turkey. My home, our home, is wild and fierce but with such beauty and solitude that it can calm and rejuvenate the soul.  Its natural, one of a kind, pure, and here for us all.  How we get there is different, I chose to walk. "

-Welcome Home!