Welcome to the Appalachian Trail.
“The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.” - Laozi
This particular journey is one of 2,197.4 miles. It begins in Amicalola State Falls Park, GA.
On the morning of April 22nd, I left it all behind and boarded a flight from Newark to Atlanta. I hugged my mom goodbye and gave my cats little farewell head kisses before taking off for the airport.
My dad drove me to EWR and left me with the following words: “I wish I did something like this when I was your age. This adventure is going to be a beautiful sentence in the essay of your life. Stay safe.”
I considered the weight of his words and acknowledged that I was in charge of fending for myself from here on out.
On the plane ride to Atlanta, I was surrounded by four blonde women who all seemed to be related, spoke in rapid fire French, and smelled like good cigarettes. From what I could gather, they were gossiping about one of the women’s ex-husbands. The women passed Mentos and chapstick and hand cream across me as they angrily discussed the man in question, all while generously throwing the word putain around. I tuned the women out with Phoebe Bridger’s Lost Ark Studio album and the song “Waiting Room” came on. I enjoy listening to this song on repeat whenever I want to be put in a bad mood. The song’s outro is what really gets to me:
“I know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.
Know it’s for the better.”
[The line repeats 27x more, but you get the idea.]
I would’ve liked to have my cinematic main character moment, staring longingly outside of the plane window with a tear in my eye, but I knew the French women would judge me for crying. I bottled my emotions up for the remainder of the flight and ordered a United snack box as consolation.
After picking up the checked luggage containing my trekking poles and Swiss army knife, I ordered an Uber to the nearest REI. I bought a small isobutane fuel canister, chatted with the cashier about my gear for a bit, and then caught a second Uber up to the state park lodge. The second Uber was an hour and a half long car ride, so I was thankful to have a nice, normal person as my driver. His name was Craig, and he often brought his two daughters up to Amicalola for camp activities and day hikes on the weekends.
I treated myself to a room with a view of the mountainside at the Amicalola Falls Lodge, as I wanted to be in a good headspace before kicking off my big adventure. I did one last personal shake down of my pack and double-checked that I had remembered to bring everything. I laid all of my gear out across my hotel bed and cross-referenced the items with my LighterPack profile.
Everything I need and nothing I don’t. The bare essentials needed to survive the next six months.
Fuck. I had forgotten my camp stove at home. How could I go out of my way to buy a fuel canister and not even remember to bring a stove? I guess I could just cold soak all of my meals until I reach Neel’s Gap, and from there I could buy a replacement stove at the Mountain Crossings Outfitters. Or I could just ask to borrow someone else’s stove at camp each night—that would be a good excuse to meet new people. I tried my best to not panic over my early mistake and instead savor my last night in a bed with clean sheets.
The next morning, I printed out my permit for the Great Smokies with the front desk and then walked down to the park’s visitor center. From there, I officially registered for my thru-hike and received a yellow hangtag for my pack. The tag color changes each year; the class of 2024 is represented by Trout Lily Yellow, and I was prospective thru-hiker number 2,531 for the season. Based on historic success rates, only ~600 of us would actually reach the summit of Katahdin, the official finish line of a NoBo thru-hike of the AT. Luckily for me, the visitor center also sold small camping stoves, so I grabbed one before heading back outside.
The archway in the back of the visitor center is the official start of the approach trail for a NoBo AT thru-hike. The approach trail is a brutally steep 8-mile ascent to the base of Mt. Springer, which is the actual start of the trail. Alternatively, if you have access to a vehicle, you could have someone drop you off at the parking lot nearest to the base of Mt. Springer, but I didn’t feel like trying my hand at hitchhiking quite yet.
A mom selfie that I took in front of the arch because I was too shy to ask the elderly couple sitting outside of the visitor center to take a photo for me.
The weather was perfect—a clear sky accompanied by a healthy breeze—and I took it as a good omen. While hiking back up the approach trail, I ran into my first pair of prospective thru-hikers: Cash and Milkman. These obviously weren’t their legal names—these were their trail names. It is a time honored tradition amongst thru-hikers to adopt trail names while attempting a long-distance hiking trail. Trail names are typically tied to a humorous story, event or idiosyncrasy of a hiker, so they make for great icebreakers when meeting other backpackers. Cash and Milkman had met each other and earned their trail names while hiking the CDT last year. The two were looking to become triple crowners, or individuals who have successfully thru-hiked all of the three major long-distance trails in the United States. These consist of the Appalachian Trail (AT), the Continental Divide Trail (CDT), and the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT). I must have been noticeably stressed out by my first day on trail, as the two offered some reassuring words and bits of advice before taking off for the base of Springer.
The rest of my first day on trail was relatively pleasant and uneventful. My camp shoes, a pair of Crocs, flew off at one point due to a questionable bungee cord attachment.
A man hiking behind me noticed and facetiously shouted, “Litterbug!”
His name was Min, and he was section hiking the trail back up to his home in Virginia. We ended up camping next to each other later that night. A ridgerunner and another hiker joined us at the campsite later in the evening, as well. I was thankful to not be sleeping alone in the woods for my first night on the trail. When you’re on edge and alone in a new environment, a squirrel rustling around in a pile of dried leaves sounds suspiciously similar to a large bear stalking around your tent.
As I started to fall asleep around 9 PM that night, a lethal realization struck me. I had purchased a spicy Italian sub at the visitor center that morning and didn’t recall ever placing it in my bear bag. I started frantically rummaging through the contents of my pack, making an excessive amount of noise for hiker midnight. This room temperature spicy Italian sub was going to be the death of me if I couldn’t find it. While tearing through the belongings inside my tent, I thought about the story of a Boy Scout who was partially mauled by a bear as a consequence of forgetting a loose Snicker’s bar in his tent. As I considered the details of this story, my heartbeat quickened and my sternum popped. I managed to convince myself that my sore left arm was actually my body signaling the first signs of a heart attack. I’m going to die in the middle of the woods surrounded by strangers. I could be back at home right now in my warm, plush bed, watching Netflix and cuddling with my cats next to a lit Jo Malone candle. Hiking the Appalachian Trail is a fully elective experience and I have voluntarily put myself in this situation. Why am I here right now?
At some point amidst my extreme catastrophization, I had fallen asleep and lived to see another day. Daylight broke in through the slit of my tent’s breezeway and woke me up with a gentle nudge. The birds sang their mild song then fell back into the quiet anonymity of the woods. After drinking a cup of coffee and eating some warm breakfast, I decided that I had been entirely too dramatic the previous night and would approach today with a better mindset. Also, the spicy Italian sub had been in my bear bag all along.
Shortly after leaving camp, I ran into a group of dads on a boy’s trip. I had to be the bearer of bad news and inform them that they had been walking in the wrong direction for over an hour.
One of the men spoke in a thick New England accent and said, “Ya really facked up this time, Steve.”
“Hey, I’m just the comedy relief! You don’t give the comedic relief the map!” the other dad responded in defense.
I might have a laughably bad sense of direction, but it is very difficult to get lost on the Appalachian Trail. There are 2”x 6” white blazes every 50 feet or so along the trail, indicating that you are headed down the right path. There are also other clearly color-coded blazes for water sources, off-trail campsites, etc.
I continued hiking until I reached the base of Mt. Springer. There is a trail register located in a box that’s drilled into the side of a stone—it’s easy to miss if you aren’t looking for it. All prospective NoBo thru-hikers sign the register and typically include a journal entry to commemorate the start of their journey. I wrote down my name and one of my favorite quotes:
“A walk through nature walks the soul back home.” - Mary Davis
I continued on my hike for the day until I heard a loud snort from the tree line. I looked to my right and saw the backend of a black bear as he was darting up the hill. As soon as I had my phone raised to snap a quick picture, the bear was already gone. I was so excited—my first up close bear encounter on the AT!
After a few more minutes of walking, I stumbled upon a group of other thru-hikers resting on a giant felled trunk. Their names were Avollah, Racoon, Ritchie and Mario. We chatted about my bear encounter and how all bears have unique personalities, so it’s actually quite difficult to prescribe a one-size-fits-all approach to close encounters with them. For instance, “brown lie down” versus “black fight back” should not be applied when you’re facing a mama black bear that’s willing to fight to the death in order to protect her cubs.
The rest of the group eventually took off, and I ended up in a direct conversation with Ritchie. He said that he was here to “face [his] demons”. Ritchie told me about witnessing the death of his older brother at the hands of their step father last year. He also mentioned how the woman who gave him a ride from Kansas to the trailhead ended up in a car wreck on the drive back and was now permanently injured. As much as he wanted to give up, Ritchie interpreted the incident as a sign from God and refused to quit this early on. Ritchie reminded me of a PWID named Mort who frequented the Harm Reduction Center that I used to volunteer at. Mort had runs of bad luck that resulted in multiple relapses; unfortunately, within a few months of meeting him, I learned that Mort had overdosed and passed away. Some people seem to be afflicted with a chronic sort of misfortune—they can just never seem to catch a break in life. It’s a cruel existence that’s inexplicable and undeserved.
I lent Ritchie some cooking supplies since he was missing a pot and a fire starter. My dinner for the night was the Knor broccoli and cheese rice with crushed Spam for added protein. Unfortunately, I left the lid of my pot back at home to reduce weight, so I wasn’t able to properly cook the rice. It turns out that I don’t love Spam and crunchy rice soaked in water, but I shoved it down anyways for the sake of getting enough calories. That’s when I heard several voices shout “Hooray!” up near the entrance of the campsite. The group of dads that I met earlier in the day had finally rolled into camp.
“Oh hey, you guys made it,” I said.
“Look, it’s our guardian angel!” said the comedic relief.
The group seemed to be in much higher spirits and tossed me one of their cold beers—a prized commodity on the trail—as a thank-you. I fell asleep to the sounds of their crackling fire and lighthearted conversation. At some point during the night, an SAR helicopter hovered over our campsite. It remained suspended over us for a good minute to ensure that we weren’t the callers and eventually moved on. Someone must have either called in a $10k bailout or was in serious trouble.
Towards the end of my third day hiking, I decided to treat myself to a hostel night in order to keep my morale high. Most of the hostels along the AT offer shuttle services to and from the trail, so I shot the owner a quick text to request a pick-up.
They responded instantly: “OK. I might be a while. Grabbing another party. Hang tight.”
While waiting for my ride in the parking lot of Woody Gap, a motorcyclist pulled up next to me for a snack break. We chatted for a bit about our respective days. He was a local Georgian out for a weekend joy ride, but he didn’t know very much about the Appalachian Trail.
“So, let me get this straight—you’re doing this all by yourself? Are you sure that’s safe?” he asked.
I assured him that thru-hiking the AT was, statistically speaking, not very risky at all. No long-distance thru-hiker has ever been murdered on the AT and, on average, only one fatal bear attack occurs each decade. That’s an extremely low number when you keep in mind that roughly 3 million people visit sections of the AT each year. I debated asking the motorcyclist for a hitch to the hostel right as the shuttle arrived.
Chief, the hostel manager, gave me a tour and introduced me to the other guests: Rochelle, Mark, and Jason “Scorp”. Rochelle and Mark (self-proclaimed as “Team Molasses”) were section hiking the trail up to North Carolina, while Scorp was a fellow prospective thru-hiker. A few more guests were shuttled into the hostel throughout the course of the evening, and over half of them were already seriously considering bailing off the trail. One of these individuals, Cal “Monster”, hiked over 20 miles on his first day and had completely wrecked his body as a consequence. His feet were covered in painful blisters and he was already walking with a bad hiker hobble.
“I have to put my health first,” Cal announced at the dinner table, “I can’t understand how other people accept these lifelong consequences to their bodies just to say that they’ve hiked the AT. I’m out of here.”
I started to wonder if most of the people who become seriously injured on the AT just don’t listen to their bodies or know their own limitations. If you are seriously unwell after hiking 20+ miles in a day, then chances are that you’re probably not ready to crank out that kind of mileage. I spent the months of December and January in and out of the emergency room and the operating room, so I’m just thankful that my body is now cooperating. It feels like I have a new lease on life, and I don’t intend on taking my healthy body for granted. That being said, I also have a newfound awareness of how fragile a body can be. I was a bit worried about how mine would react when going from a sedentary lifestyle to pounding out 10, 15, 20-mile days of hiking, so I’m trying my best to be mindful and gently ease myself back into things.
Despite having only been out in the woods for three days, I had accumulated enough dirt on my body to partially clog up the hostel’s shower drain. This might be TMI, but I ended up having to waffle stomp the rest of the mud through the drain in order to not completely disgust the next person who used the shower. This was the beginning of my transformation from a civilian with basic hygiene into full-on hiker trash.
As we were all packing up the next morning to head back onto the trail, Rochelle tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hey, you didn’t have a trail name yet, right? Well, if you can’t think of one, I think that Black Magic would suit you. It makes sense because all of your outfits and gear are black!” she said.
I thanked Rochelle for her suggestion and kept the name in mind. Black Magic. Later that day, while striking up a conversation with two section hikers, I introduced myself as Black Magic to see how it felt.
“Oh my,” the husband said, “That sounds…Satanic.”
I decided that I would need to make some modifications to my trail name. Maybe something that could be deemed as less spiritually or racially charged in nature. While I was thinking of a less inflammatory alternative, “You’re On Your Own, Kid” from Taylor Swift’s Midnights album came on through my earbuds.
I search the party of better bodies just to learn that my dreams aren’t rare. You’re on your own kid—you always have been.
I decided that the name Midnight would be a good alternative; from then onwards, I started to introduce myself accordingly.
While I had originally vowed to not push myself beyond ten miles a day for the first week, I broke this promise when hiking through a stretch of the trail where bear canisters are required. I use a bear hanging kit to store my food, so I ended up hiking 15 miles in order to make it out of the restricted zone. I had been rolling into camp around noon each day up to this point, so I was less concerned about timing and more concerned about overexerting myself too early on.
This day’s hike involved passing through Neel’s Gap, which is the first significant checkpoint of an AT thru-hiker. Roughly 25% of all prospective thru-hikers drop out before reaching this section, so it’s a good sign if you’re still in the running at this point. The main point of interest at Neel’s Gap is Mountain Crossings Outfitters. The employees at this outfitter were a godsend: they gave me a pack shakedown, fitted my pack, fixed my trekking poles (which were badly damaged courtesy of United’s checked luggage handling), and helped me to send home all of the gear that I decided wasn’t worth the weight.
The famous shoe tree outside of Mountain Crossings Outfitters, its foliage consisting of dead dreams and gently used trail runners.
After finishing up at Mountain Crossings, I set up camp at the first tent site just outside of the mandated bear canister zone. I had been carrying around a 12 oz bottle of Permethrin for the past few days, so I decided to finally coat all of my day clothes and some of my other gear in the insecticide. The sun started to set and no one else had passed the campsite, so I assumed that I would be alone for the evening and got comfortable in my pajamas.
Around 7:30 PM that night, two other hikers came barreling into the campsite: Mario and Jamie. I recognized Mario from an earlier campsite and we briefly chatted before he trailed off to bed. Jamie started up a campfire and we ended up talking for a few hours. He’s a corporate finance associate from Manhattan, so I was able to explain my recent work experience to him and he was able to actually understand most of the details. It was nice to enjoy some genuine human interaction after having spent the bulk of the day alone in the woods with nothing but my thoughts to keep me company.
I woke up the next morning to water droplets hitting my forehead from the condensation that formed in my tent. The fog had rolled in overnight and given the woods a hauntingly beautiful atmosphere. I drank some instant coffee with a Hostess pastry on the side and enjoyed the gloomy scenery. I then packed up my belongings and silently thanked the woods for giving me a variety of landscapes for my first week on trail.
The oaoaoaoa weather was a treat. I listened to Iron & Wine while packing up to celebrate.
I stumbled upon a group of seven men early on that morning. They all sat in identical camp chairs arranged in a perfect circle. The men had dark hair and the same pair of sunglasses, covering up just enough of their faces such that there was no distinguishable traits left between them.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey!” said six of the men in unison.
“Hey,” said one of the men a second out of sync.
The six other men turned their heads to stare at him as one. I quickened up my pace a bit and continued down the trail. Some hours had passed until I finally reached a broader clearing in the woods. A person was fumbling around on the forest floor in an attempt to get their pack organized. I decided to sit down on a log near them and have a quick snack before continuing onwards.
“Greetings, fellow traveler!” said the person as they turned towards me.
They had the shrill voice of a Monty Python character and vibrant blue eyes. Their legal name was Throst, and they had flown out from their encampment in Slab City to thru-hike the trail. Throst described their journey along the AT as “a portal by which I can ascend to a higher version of myself”. We chatted for a bit about our respective goals and intentions for thru-hiking, during which Throst offered to perform a tarot reading for me. I opted for a classic three-card past, present, future spread.
They cleansed the tarot deck with a pile shuffle and laid the cards out in an arch for me to select from. I picked three cards and Throst spread them out in front of me: The Tower, The Empress, and The Four of Wands. The Tower (my past) represents danger, crisis and destruction. It is commonly associated with sudden unforeseen change and widely regarded as the least fortunate card in the deck. The Empress (my present) can represent the germination of an idea before it is ready to be fully born. It is typically symbolic of the need to be receptive to change. The Four of Wands (my future) exudes celebration, positivity, and success. It is a good omen that indicates good health, stability and wellness.
Throst asked if I was doing OK based on The Tower pull for my past.
“Well, at least the rest of your spread bears good tidings,” they said. “You have such a lovely vibe. Peace be with you, wanderer. I hope that our paths might one day cross again.”
I continued on with that day’s hike until reaching the next shelter, which is where I had originally planned on setting up my tent for the night. There are over 250 shelters—permanent three-sided wooden structures—scattered across the AT for thru-hikers to lodge in. These structures eliminate the need for a tent set up, as hikers can just roll their sleep systems out on the provided wooden platforms. I decided to hold off on sleeping in any of the shelters until reaching North Carolina, as there have been reported Norovirus outbreaks along the Georgia section of the trail. Nonetheless, a lot of the shelters have access to privies, water sources, and their own surrounding campsites, so it’s still convenient to set up a tent in proximity to one.
This particular shelter housed a menacing looking man wearing a once-white cotton shirt, distressed blue jeans, and scuffed Vans; in other words, he was definitely not a thru-hiker. I was warned in advance to steer clear of any men wearing cotton who hang around shelters by themselves. In these instances, cotton could quite literally kill (inappropriate hiking pun intended). I decided to push onto the next shelter for my own safety, even if it meant hiking an extra seven miles for the day.
An example image of a shelter; this one is located in The Great Smoky Mountains National Park.
I ended up completing that day’s hike around 6 PM, basically on my hands and knees crawling uphill for the last two miles. Upon arriving at the shelter, I noticed a group of other hikers hanging around by the campfire. While I was pretty beat up and wanted nothing more than to collapse in bed, I hadn’t spent much time that day socializing and was in need of some quality human interaction. Their names were Mitch “Google”, Hayley “Uno”, Rhys “Radagas”, Ethan “Power Finger”, JD “Hungry”, and Neil “Stickless”. We stood around the campfire, or in the words of Uno, “the hypnotic flame of warmth and spatial joy”, and exchanged stories to pass the time.
Google is a triple crowner and produces YouTube videos of his thru-hikes. He shared the story of his scariest hitchhiking experience from thru-hiking the CDT back in 2020. His group was offered a ride by the manager of a pizza shop in Montana, during which they became involved in a violent car chase. The manager’s cousin attempted to force them off the road with his vehicle for unknown reasons, so the driver had to give the group the boot mid-hitch. My fears surrounding hitchhiking were stoked a little bit further, to say the least.
Uno’s mom, “Plug”, was going to drive the group into Hiawassee the next day for a resupply and had a spare seat in her car. I’d just loaded up on supplies at Neel’s Gap and wanted to focus on continuing to make mileage, so I said farewell to the group the next morning. I had a feeling that our paths would cross again soon enough.
I made it to Dick’s Creek Gap (DCG) later that day and experienced my first bit of trail magic. Trail magic happens when someone, referred to as a trail angel, performs an unexpected act of kindness for thru-hikers without expecting anything in return. Some examples of trail magic include leaving boxes of food on the trail, offering a ride into town, or even going so far as allowing hikers to stay in one’s home for the night.
Rainman performing his trail magic and serving up a warm lunch to all passersby hikers.
Paul “Rainman” successfully thru-hiked the AT back in 2008 and started giving back to the community in 2016 by regularly hosting cookouts at DCG. I downed a concerning amount of lobster mac & cheese, two diet Pepsis, and several hot dogs before heading back onto the trail. My spirits were lifted and my heart (and my stomach) was full.
I ran into Mario again at camp that night. He was in a notably more chatty mood and shared a few fun bug facts before heading off to bed.
“It’s nuptial season for the ants. That’s why they all have wings right now,” he said.
“Oh, well, aren’t we lucky?” I said.
“Well, I think it’s super cool!”
Mario also mentioned that it was his first time ever thru-hiking and that he was having a blast. Once he decided that he had enough social time for the day, he scurried off to bed.
“Night night, Midnight!”
I decided to stay at a hostel the following day in order to charge up my power bank and resupply at the adjoined outfitters. Unfortunately, I had lost cell signal to contact the hostel owner for a ride by the time I reached the parking lot, so I ran a mile back uphill until I had reception again. As I made it back up part of the mountain, I ran into two college girls—Squeeze and Danno—who were also thru-hiking. The latter had fallen into some poison oak earlier in the day and was attempting to wash the affected area near a water source. Once I was finally able to reach the hostel owner to ask for a ride, I said farewell to the girls and sprinted back down the mountain. While waiting for the shuttle, a pretty, barefoot woman in a flowing red dress walked past and offered me a Coors Light.
“I love these because they use fresh spring water,” she said.
I mentioned that I was from Denver and had visited the factory a few times out in Golden, CO. The woman introduced herself as Chi and her partner, Savage, was supporting her thru-hike by traveling alongside her in his car. We chatted for a bit and parted ways once my shuttle arrived. Gordon, the owner of Hostel Around the Bend, gave me a quick tour of the hiker hostel once we arrived. He ran the lodge with his wife, Lisa, and was going to close shortly for the season since most of the bubble had already passed. I settled into my bunk and started to charge up my electronics when Squeeze and Danno entered the bunk space.
“Oh hey, long time no see,” I said.
“Yeah, we were planning on camping right after Dick’s Creek Gap, but the stealing hippies were already camped out there,” said Squeeze. I hadn’t heard anything about thieving hippies prior to this conversation.
“So, they steal from other thru-hikers? Are you serious?” I asked.
“Yeah, one of our trail friends had several hundred dollars worth of equipment stolen.”
She went on to share some theories that suggested bears weren’t actually taking people’s food—it was just the couple cutting down bear hangs. Apparently their photos were now posted up in front of Mountain Crossings and all around towns along the Georgia portion of the trail.
“They like to get people drunk in order to make stealing from them easier,” she said. I eyed my now lukewarm bottle of Coors Light sitting at the edge of the bunk bed.
Our hostel host had spent the day smoking a piece of pork shoulder that another thru-hiker, Jellyfish, had brought back from the farmer’s market. We played dominos and painted our nails in the TV room while waiting for dinner to be served. The smoked pork was served with an Alabama white sauce. After one bite, I was fully convinced that I had never once eaten genuinely good barbecue before in my life.
We ended up watching “Oh Brother Where Art Thou” while Gordon rubbed down my sleeping pad in a thick layer of soap on the front porch. I likely had a micro leak in my sleeping pad, as it wouldn’t stay inflated for more than a few hours at a time. After spending a good 20 minutes searching for the tear to no avail, Gordon chalked it up to user error and reminded me to close both of the valves on the pad before use.
The next morning, Gordon dropped some of us off at DCG, where I ran into Google and the others once again. We ended up walking and chatting with each other for a bit, and the group mentioned they were planning to camp around Bly Gap for the night. This location houses the most photographed tree along the trail—an iconic twisted oak tree. I kept their destination in mind and considered that it might be fun to consistently hike with a group of people.
We reached the state border early in the afternoon, and I sped up once the wooden sign came into sight. As I crossed the border from Georgia into North Carolina and walked up to the giggling group of hikers seated around a fire pit, I allowed myself to have an optimistic thought: If I was strong enough to have made it this far, then maybe I’ll be strong enough to keep going.
Posted from Laughing Heart Hostel in Hot Springs, NC (274.9 / 2,197.4 mi)
—
Current book: A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara
Book review of Marabou Stork Nightmares by Irvine Welsh: This is the first long-form experimental piece that I have ever read. It’s a story that centers around Roy, a man who’s in a medically induced coma for the majority of the book. The storytelling oscillates between Roy’s fantastical stork hunting adventure while captive in his own mind and the conversations which take place above his semi-unconscious body in the real world. If you enjoy psychological thrillers with a complex context, then I would recommend giving this piece a try.
TW: It’s a heavy story which touches on the South African apartheid and perpetuated cycles of abuse, so I would only read this book if you are in a good headspace.
I would give this book 7/10 stars.
—
I wanted to briefly address the elephant in the room. Unfortunately, my sister will no longer be joining on the thru-hike due to personal reasons.
I think this is an important lesson in not waiting on others to do the things you want in life. If you feel the need to wait on others for the sake of simply not doing things alone, then you are going to miss out on so many incredible experiences. Go to the concert of an artist who none of your friends are interested in. Take yourself on a vacation when no one else is available. I can guarantee you that no one else at the concert or restaurant is looking at you and thinking: “Wow, what a freak. Why are they here by themselves?” I cannot overstate how empowering it is to be able to live your life to its fullest without needing to rely on others. While doing fun things with good company is ideal, it is important to remember that you are always in control of creating your own happiness.
