September 3, 2008
This is a 5-month long series of blog posts that are the entries in my journals written on most evenings as I hiked the Appalachian Trail in 1993. The journal entry appears first — indented — and then any additional commentary from my 15-years-removed perspective follows.
9/3/93 – Fri.
My pack is now heavier than it has been since I got on the trail, and the first real climb in the White Mountains is tomorrow morning. Nice planning, Tim. Dad seems to have gone way overboard all of the sudden on the cans — I’m toting about one per meal. I also got most of my cold weather gear.
Salomon is going to overnight mail me a new pair of boots to Mt. Washington, which is good news.
Ben is sick, so Mosquito Lunch did not go anywhere today. I’m back to having to think for myself again. Buck, Chow Hound, Glen, and the Seeker are all here tonight.
It seems like hiking is more and more becoming a real chore. I am about to get up above treeline to some of the most spectacular parts of the A.T., but will I notice? Chow Hound preaches his “go slow” sermon, but I continue to just be ready to get to the big “K.” I enjoy the company in shelters quite a bit, but not so much as to want to consciously make the trip last as long as possible. I am burnt out. Nothing that I see or do occurs without a twinge of sadness that Julie is not seeing or doing it with me. I am oh-so-tired of having her in my thoughts more than in my arms. “And if you ask if I have second thoughts I guess I’d have to say, ‘Every second, every minute, every hour that you’re away.'”