Loving NE Georgia: A Backpacker’s Tale (Part 1)

Dedicated to the Awesome People of Rabun County in Northeast Georgia

Out of the Ashes, a New Beginning....

Pacific Crest Trail
(Photo by US. Forest Service)

As a child, growing up in Seaside, Oregon, I spent as much time as possible wandering the rain forest, exploring the Necanicum River, and experiencing the Clatsop and Tillamook State Forests. I loved my time in the forest, oblivious of the possibility that a black bear might paw  up my tent or a  rattlesnake might sink it’s fangs into my unprotected flesh. So it makes sense, I suppose, that when I most recently “ran away from home,” I should find myself returning to the forest.

Fire is an essential part of forest's ecosystem; a good lightening blaze every so many years makes it stronger. I've been thinking lately that maybe that works for people too!

Truth is, I was burned out, fed up, frustrated, and almost broke. My income had been seriously downsized in the recession, and though I tried a couple of other things that didn’t work out, I ended up losing my home, my stuff, and in some ways, my self-respect and sanity. My Mom died that fall, as did Baby (the best dog I’ve ever known and my long-time companion). My beloved granddaughter, Mandi, turned 18 and went off to further her education. I felt the need to "begin again" and there was no one left who actually depended on me, so when I had heard a woman talking about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail on NPR, I immediately decided I was going to do that....

Problem was, I’ve been mostly sitting behind a computer screen for the past thirty years and have foolishly smoked even longer. My body is adjusted to the long, sweltering summers of Jacksonville, Florida. This was in early May of 2012, and no matter how I looked at it, I was already too late to start in the desert, and too early to start elsewhere – unless I was up to being almost immediately at a high elevation with severely colder temperatures and likely snow-covered terrain. I thought I had a plan until I realized that even had I been able to manage with the extreme cold (from a Floridian’s perspective), at the base of Mt. Whitney I probably wouldn’t be able to breathe. (Mt. Whitney, at an elevation of 14,494 feet above sea level, is the highest peak in the lower 48 states). Waiting until next year didn’t feel like an option, and by now, having day dreamed for weeks about the beauty, silence and solitude of the Cascade Mountains, I was more than a little desperate to go!

Appalachian Trail Near Bigelow Preserve in Maine
(Photo by US Forest Service)

My attention grew to the Appalachian Trail, which begins in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains and runs 2,184 miles north to Mt. Katahdin in Maine. I didn’t like the idea of hiking through the highly populated eastern states and dealing with high crime, high temperatures, and Lyme Disease-ridden ticks, but it seemed like a start. Good training, I thought, for the Pacific Crest. And it was close – $120.00 for a bus and train ticket got me there (mostly). I bought a pack, tent, sleeping bag, and as much of necessary-seeming equipment as I could afford (which wasn’t much).

I got my first physical in over ten years and was granted an overall clean bill of health, in spite of two major back injuries and a new diagnosis of C.O.P.D. The beginning of June came and I left, leaving behind my computer, perfumes and body lotions (and anything else that might attract a bear), almost all of my clothes, toilets, running water, and my family. 

I could barely lift my sixty pound pack.