I Would Walk 900 Miles

At the beginning of the year before the pandemic hit, I planned out the remaining backpack trips I would need to finish my goal of hiking all the trails in the park by the end of 2020, which would make me a “900-Miler.” I’m overjoyed that the stars aligned and that I got my last trip in this past weekend, which meant I came out of the woods on my last day of being 42.

This was a personal goal that was born of a deep need to return to my roots and reason for even living in the Smokies. After about five years into motherhood, I was coming out of postpartum depression and struggling with overwhelm and burnout from over-functioning. But it meant I would have to start taking solo journeys, which I’d only ever done one or two of, and in the past, I was always a bit scared as soon as darkness fell. Although I have faced a lot of real and imagined fears and found some measure of resilience in healing my fragmented self from PTSD, I was still afraid of the darkness while alone in the woods until these last few years.

I knew that my desire to be in the woods had to be greater than my fear, though, and I’m glad I was able to push through enough to allow myself to find the joy I seek and explore more of the history, landscape, and biodiversity of these mountains that have held me and helped me rewrite a new story for my life. I have found that so often the journey is not around the pain, but straight through it.

There’s much about this milestone that is bursting forth seeking a longer form that I’m holding close for now, but I’ll share a highlight from the hike that marked my completion.

When I came out on Fontana Lake to meet the ferry, the captain had told a Boy Scout troop from Lexington about my trip, and they all clapped and sang Happy Birthday for me as I embarked, grungy and exhausted. In the absence of family and friends greeting me at this juncture, it was the most welcome moment of re-entry I’ve had. It was doubly unexpected since that was the only time I’d ridden with strangers on the ferry.

As humanity hurtles into the Sixth Mass Extinction, dangerously high CO2 levels, and the persistence of toxic patriarchy, unsustainable economics, and growing white supremacy, I’m sometimes astonished by hope. It managed to find me, though—through a conversation with an engineer who was on the ferry as a Boy Scout troop leader.

He was a chemical engineer, and I asked him about his work. He told me about how he left his corporate job to make a plant-based adhesive, which holds up to hydrocarbon-based commercial glues that don’t biodegrade. His product is finding its way into more uses and gaining ground. At the very least it was uplifting to hear him say, “There’s a lot of people out there like me. It’s coming.” To which he meant people leaving corporate to join the sustainable revolution. I hope he’s right.

I took my first backpack trip 19 years ago when my now husband and I were long-distance dating for a few years before I moved here. When I was finally here, we spent most weekends rambling through the mountains in the park, and because of those days, the Smokies is inexctricably tied with my most personal stories. But now that I’ve completed all the trails, we’re looking forward to explore more outside the park with our son, who took his first backpack trip with us this year.

What a journey. I’m the best kind of tired. Happy trails to all.