Best hiking advice I’ve ever received

tThe day begins with a delightfully flat 7 miles after the descent of Whiteface and through the town of Johnson. The mileage that took me until lunchtime yesterday now takes me until 10am, at which point I force myself to stop and rest my leg for a bit.

Chicken, who had not previously updated the water fountains in FarOut, began leaving comments on each flowing fountain. While I don’t know for sure, I tell myself it’s their way of making this stretch of trail a little easier for me.

Every time I see one of your comments describing exactly where to get the best water, I smile a little.

The man in the river

I meet a man in a river while I am filtering water. He tells me that he has hiked the Long Trail before and that I have officially been through the hardest parts. Unexpectedly, both for me and for him, I’m sure, I immediately burst into tears.

As you awkwardly try to back away from your dog and leave this sudden, strange interaction, I tearfully thank you. I didn’t realize until now how much tension I carried with me, worried that an especially and unexpectedly technical mountain ahead would hurt my leg even more and end my hike before Canada.

I know the miles ahead will be difficult and full of steep ups and downs, but now I’m sure that’s all I’ll be able to do. I’m fine with a steep descent, as long as the terrain doesn’t force me to do a lot of jumping jacks and deep squats with my injured quadriceps.

Walking through a whole rig of maple taps.

The woman in the shelter

I reach the top of Laraway Mountain before making my strange limping move to Corliss Cabin for the night. There I meet Elise and spend dinner chatting with someone else.

It’s been three days since Chicken and I separated and he continued forward while I slowed down to the pace my leg would allow me. In just these three days without company, I feel like I have lost all social skills.

Fortunately, I don’t burst into tears in front of Elise like I did with that other man, but I have a hard time making a conversation like a normal person during the night.

Elise, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry I was so weird! I forgot what it was like to talk to a person face to face.

The last thing I do before going to bed is check how far I am from Canada. 37.3 miles. For the first time I feel quite close.

The best hiking tips

Last year, I met a man at the CDT named Red Panda, and he is the source of the best hiking advice I’ve ever received. At the Wind River Range, in the midst of a crisis over foot pain I had been suffering from for 1,000 miles, he told me I had to open myself to the possibility that it would simply get better.

There I was, pacing the enormity of the trail ahead and wondering how I could walk the last 1,500 miles with such a sore foot. In my head, if the pain was caused by overuse, the only options were that it would stay the same or get worse as long as I kept walking on it.

Panda thought otherwise and told me that sometimes our body is capable of doing unexpected things. He told me about a knee injury he had on the PCT through the Sierra and how one day it just resolved itself. You should, he told me, allow yourself to believe that that could happen to you.

About 100 miles later, in Yellowstone, the worst of the pain in my foot disappeared without a trace.

I think about Panda today and his advice, as I move forward faster than I would have thought possible three days ago. I remind myself that sometimes things can get better.

Today I’m listening to Comeback Kid (That’s My Dog) by Brett Dennen and it sounds like being home alone and dancing in the kitchen.

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