I started the AT with a 60 pound pack and then added a guitar

The following is a guest post by Tyler Jensen. Submit your own hiking story to The Trek here.

METROMy backpack weighed 60 pounds and every hiker I met had something to say about it. In the Boy Scouts they teach you all the ways camping in the woods can go wrong. So, like a good Eagle Scout, I was prepared for the AT. Layoffs upon layoffs. Solutions for worst case scenarios. Extra large first aid kit. Food for weeks. I even had a tablet and a full DSLR camera.

A week and a half later, I arrived at Plum Orchard Gap (about 4 miles south of the North Carolina/Georgia border). It was almost empty: just two older guys and their dog. We went over the usual topics: food, equipment and then, inevitably, the weight of the backpack.

Measuring my backpack, one spoke. «How much does that monster weigh?»

Then they launched into a fifteen-minute sermon.

«You’re going to get hurt.»
«You’re too small to carry that. It shouldn’t weigh more than a third of your body weight.»
«You don’t know how much that really is?»

As if he didn’t know after uploading it to Blood Mountain. I wanted to respond, but I bit my tongue. That made my decision to leave the shelter easier. Walking four more miles to the next site sounded better than camping with them. I arrived at Bly Gap, a campground just past the North Carolina border, and found that almost all the suitable campsites were occupied. Both section and pass hikers abounded, and I settled for a sloping spot near the edge of the clearing.

Looking at the hikers laughing by a campfire, I thought I had enough energy to meet more strangers; I just had to avoid how heavy my backpack was. As I approached, I heard one man taunting another about how he almost blew up a fuel can while trying to light the campfire. But what caught my attention was a guy playing a guitar while chatting with a girl by the fire.

When I saw the guitar, it stung me again. At home, I played every day, but I couldn’t justify carrying my guitar given the current weight of the backpack. And I didn’t want to be that guy. Introductions were made and it wasn’t long before his guitar appeared. He built his entire team around that guitar.

Most would do anything to lighten the load, but here was a guy who just wanted to play guitar, so he carried the extra weight. He saw that I wanted to play and gave me the guitar, and I played with the unknown guitar for a while. The rest of the night we enjoyed the glow of the campfire and acoustic music, sharing the stories of what brought us to the trail. I ended up walking with them for over 1200 miles.

I bought a guitar in Gatlinburg. My backpack was still excessively heavy even after getting rid of some items, but that guitar became the most important five pounds in my backpack. The joy of playing on a rock outcropping a valley in the Smoky Mountains made the endless hills worth it. The shame and confidence that came from ruining songs in front of the tram. The bond and the teasing for writing a parody of my friend’s relationship problems. Read more: bvhfgg19. The peace that comes from playing while watching the sunset on Mt. Madison.

Package weight matters. The injuries are real. But I would never criticize anyone for carrying an extra ten pounds of luxury items. Playing guitar in remote and beautiful places is a rare privilege that many people will never be able to experience. The extra weight never hurt me. Not carrying what mattered would have done it.

Guest post by tyler jensenAT Flip Flops Class of 2024. Do you want your writing to appear on The Trek? Submit your own route story.

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Featured image courtesy of Tyler Jensen

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