Memory Lane to Find You-Weverton Cliffs, MD | And then I walked — sarah robison · on the appalachian trail & a life unconventional

If Weverton Cliffs could talk, they would tell you a story.

The story of my evolution.

I first sat atop their rocky throne on the final day of my first extended backpacking trip, a Southbound section hike of the Appalachian Trail through the state of Maryland, September of 2019. With Epinephrine syringes and Quik Clot in tow, I savored my last lunch in the wild- hard salami, white cheddar, and fig jam forced in between 2 pieces of week-old crusty brioche. I began to hear the traffic of I-340 which laid below. The speed. The pace of our synthetic lives. A sound that sobered me from my intoxication with the quiet. With the still. Tearful, I did not want to descend.

To return to the noise.

Weverton Cliffs Sarah Robison Katie Webber-Plank — Weverton Cliffs, September 2019 with Katie “Fuel” Webber-Plank.

I dropped into the valley with a pensive stride. I stood tall, intently staring at my reflection in the mirror that hung above the double sink in Suite #1 of the Light Horse Inn, Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. I was dirt-covered. Awestruck. Incredibly curious and forever changed. I was obsessed.

And already harbored a sense of isolation.

I didn’t yet know where the Appalachian Trail began, nor of its terminus, but I knew that I wanted to set foot on every inch of its spine. One day. I called Fauls. Called Wiesen. Still poignantly staring at my reflection in the mirror. They listened but arguably had no reason to take me seriously. I was settled into a fulfilling, lucrative career and also the least likely candidate to willingly leave the land of mascara and French press for the primitive. The threatening. The quintessence of unconventional. But only I knew how I felt. What was real to me. What I was capable of. What had grabbed ahold of both my hand and my heart and wasn’t going to loosen its grip.

And I manifested a dream.

“We do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.”

— Anais Nin

On mile 1,030.5 of my Northbound thru hike, Independence Day 2021, I reached Weverton Cliffs as I neared the half-way point of my journey. This time, ascending the climb that would lead me to their rocky face, leaving the turbulence of I-340 far behind with 1,162.6 more miles of savored quiet to go.

Weaverton Cliffs with friends — Weverton Cliffs, July 4th, 2021 with the Webber-Planks, Wallflower, and Sunshine.

It was a medley of old and new with Katie alongside for a visit, as she had been in 2019, but now also on foot was Wallflower, Sunshine, Gushers, and Flowers. And, I myself, had a new alias. Dips. Say, what?? I was immersed in a world that was vastly different than the one that I was hearing about back home. 18 months after my first date with Sir Weverton, I had said “yes”.

I had done the damn thing.

Which wasn’t to have finished a thru hike, but rather, to have started.

Speaking of finishing. I did, in fact, complete my hike on October 11, 2021. After first calling my parents, I next made the call that I had been day dreaming about throughout the entire state of Maine.

To Garmin.

To deactivate my inReach Mini, my satellite beacon communicator.

Because I was never going to hike again.

Famous last words.

“Beacon group!! Feeling nostalgic today. One year ago, I sleepily piled into Uncle Roy’s van at 4am, headed for Georgia. Take me back… Heading out for a 4 day solo hike of the AT through Maryland on Friday the 18th to celebrate my 1 year start date anniversary. Will be alone, so firing up the beacon once again…”, I wrote 2 weeks ago to the group that had received my “Made it to camp in one piece!” and “No bear attacks overnight!” preset Garmin messages for 207 consecutive days last year.

I knew that to avoid the emptiness that my homesickness for the trail would lend itself to, I would need to be outside as I reminisced of my time of the infancy of my thru hike. I left my new normal of Tuesday garbage day, Sunday water-the-houseplants day, yearly mammograms, and Clorox wipes for Pen Mar Park. Abutting the Mason-Dixon line, this was the exact spot where I first stepped foot on the Appalachian Trail 30 months before. The spot where I cried out to Katie, “I will walk every inch of this thing one day!”.

The spot that stole my heart.

“Happy Anniversary”, I saluted to the footpath as I took my first steps down its winding back, making my way to Harper’s Ferry. To my third lunch on Weverton Cliffs. To the mirror. The mirror into which I had stared only a few short years ago, manifesting my now reality. “I didn’t conquer you- you taught me how to conquer myself.”, I confessed to its trees. Its boulders. To its wind.

I was home.

I was more excited to be on trail than I ever was in the days leading up to my thru hike. Surprisingly, my headphones napped in my pack for 4 days despite having downloaded an audiobook and multiple playlists before going off of the grid. My music was now the absence of it. The earth underneath my feet. The breeze rustling through the branches of winter’s naked trees. The sound of igniting my stove. Of the birdsong each morning. Of the rain hitting my tent minutes after I had gotten it up and was nestled inside, dry and grateful.

Heading South, I was reminiscent of the first time that I had ever shouldered a pack, seeing our nation’s backcountry as a pioneer. While retracing my steps, I would periodically turn around and face Northbound, creating a mirrored mental image of my time on trail while thru hiking. Landmarks fueling memories that transported me back to last summer. To the ways of my head and my heart with the confidence of 7 states behind me and the anticipation of 7 more to go, growing more comfortable with the unknown than I was the orderly.

Ego.

I had one.

When I engaged with a passerby and was asked, “How long ‘ya out for?”, I would reply, “Oh, just Maryland.”.…wait for it….WAIT for it….“But I thru hiked last year.”, I’d blurt out like vomit. “The WHOLE thing?!?”, they would ask in disbelief. “Yes, yes. The WHOLE thing.”, I’d gloat, all but reaching over my shoulder and patting myself on the back. A four day stretch in the woods that once had me seeded with pride, now felt like an embarrassment when compared to what I now knew that I was capable of. The hierarchy of life. I paid close attention to my behavior and challenged myself to eat a piece of humble pie. To stop at “just Maryland”, and better yet, to rephrase altogether- “ALL of Maryland.”, I began to answer. Because that feat, my friends, is still a really big f&$?!#@ deal. For me, and for you.

To be a silent champion, is the real win.

Unless someone were to be a complete and total self-loathing a$$. Well in that case, Deborah will always flex.

I descended the Wevertons with more finesse this time around. As I neared civilization and the chorus of I-340, inquiries from civilian life swirled in my head. “How was I adjusting to life off of the trail?”, many have asked. A question that has allowed me to feel seen, remotely understood. My answer always portraying my truths now had another layer. “What if I didn’t want to reacclimate?”, I thought.

Solitude at Weaverton Cliffs — Weverton Cliffs, March 21st, 2022, in solitude.

It was then that he came into view. Hiking Northbound, opposite me, he had intention. Purpose. And a pack that was showcasing his gear in a way that screamed, “I’m going ALL THE WAY!!”. He was polite when I said hello, and after he passed, I turned back and couldn’t help myself but to call out, “Are you thru hiking?!”.

“Yes.”, he responded. Both giddy and calm.

“That’s incredible! When did you start??”, I assumed that he must’ve been out for months if he had already crested the 1,000 mile marker.

“Today. I just started now. Like right now. Less than an hour ago. I’ve just climbed up the Cliffs from Harper’s…”, his voice cracked. He had planned a “flip-flop” thru hike starting in Harper’s Ferry, traveling North to the summit of Mount Katahdin in Maine, and then would take a train back to his starting point and begin hiking Southbound to the trail’s Southern terminus, Springer Mountain, Georgia.

This third run-in of mine with Weverton Cliffs had proven to be my most impactful. As we embraced, we shed tears that were equally yoked yet birthed from very different wombs. I offered Cochise any provisions that I had in tow and told him what an honor it was to be a part of his inaugural day and the first person that he met on trail. I coached him, “This is the first day of the most amazing ride of your life. Thank the hard climbs for making you strong enough for the next. Thank the rain for filling your water sources. Thank your hunger for the appreciation of your next meal. This trail doesn’t teach you how to hike- it teaches you how to be grateful.”

He responded, “You are a Godsend. Your heart is pure. I think that I was blessed to meet you. It was like…serendipity.”

I hadn’t yet told him of my trail name.

“I just seem to always be in the right place at the right time, that’s all.”, I smiled.

All because two strangers said “hello”.

I will meet my faithful Wevertons once again. On my way South from Maine, perhaps.

Red Fox Outdoor Equiptment approached me while thru hiking and invited me to trial their merch, free of charge, in exchange for my honest reviews. I declined. As flattered as I was, I was unwilling to compromise my hike by potentially swapping out for a piece of gear or clothing that may have unpredictably caused a problem- chaffing, blistering, back pain.

“Remember why you started. ”

— Unknown

They were patient with my process, and we collaborated after my finish. Backpacks and rain gear and merino wool, oh my!

Their Women’s Vinson II Jacket went neck for neck with the Marmot Evodry Torreys Jacket, coming in at a more affordable $188.50, compared to Marmot’s $250, but at a heftier 14.3 ounces, compared to the Evodry’s 12.9 ounces. There was a safety in the Vinson’s bright red color, allowing the hiker to be visible to hunters, wildlife and to fellow trekkers after nightfall. I appreciated the Vinson's pliability, allowing for more fluid movement, breathability, and also more compact packing, when neck in neck with Marmot’s comparable. Additionally, the hood of Red Fox’s Vinson II is crowned with a rigid brim and 3-way adjustment, as opposed to the Torreys unsupported hood, keeping your face completely free of rainfall.

The unique design of the Vinson II’s hood ultimately made this jacket my preferred, despite its heft.

Red Fox Women's Vision II Jacket — Red Fox Women’s Vinson II Jacket.

Conversely, Red Fox's Women’s Z-Dry Hoody could not compensate for its 11.2 ounces when held up against its counterpart, Patagonia's Women’s Capilene Air Hoody, coming it at a feather weight of 5.8 ounces. Well worth Pata-Gucci’s $70.50 difference in price. The Capilene Air Hoody is priced at $129, vs. the Z-Dry’s $58.50. Was the Z-Dry toastier? Yes. But at the cost of over 5 ounces and considerable bulk.

Red Fox Women's Z-Dry Hoody — Red Fox Women’s Z-Dry Hoody.

A backpacker’s juggling act of weight, cost, and functionality is specific to their personal specs and budget. If it weighs less, it will have a higher price tag, likely be more functional, but possibly less comfortable. What goes up, must come down.

I trialed Red Fox’s Women’s Merino 50 Base Layer Pants for sleeping, as I did the Women’s Smartwool Merino 250 Base Layer Bottoms throughout my thru hike. Coming to the scale at identical weights of 7.3 ounces, their difference lies in their cost and their function. When talking merino, the higher the number (grams), the more insulation that the item will provide but the deeper into your pocket it will go. I am a cold sleeper; therefore, Smartwool’s $100.00 dent in comparison to Red Fox’s more modest price of $48.50 is worth my comfort and good night’s sleep when temps drop below 60 degrees F. That said, in the warmer months, I would much prefer Red Fox’s Base Layer Pants for their more relaxed fit and breathability.

Red Fox Women's Merino 50 Base Layer Pants — Red Fox Women’s Merino 50 Base Layer Pants.

The red Cadillac of my thru hike, Osprey’s Women’s Aura AG 65 Pack was….HEAVY. Despite it having a 10/10 comfort factor, it tipped the scales with an empty weight of 4 pounds, 5 ounces. But just as one wouldn’t trade in their vehicle in the midst of a cross country road trip, I shouldered it until I reached the finish line both for my emotional attachment to it and also for fear that a different monkey on my back would yield a handicap of some sort. So when I received Red Fox’s Sandhill Ultralight Backpack 65L, I was stoked to take it out for a stretch and juggle its balls of weight, cost and functionality. It comes in at 2 pounds, 9 ounces, and I felt measurable relief from that almost 2 pound difference. The Sandhill’s Air-Vent wire frame suspension allows for its light weight without compromising durability, not to mention the comfort that comes with its mesh backing against your back. The load was distributed evenly and despite having less compartments than the Aura, space was not compromised. I prefer its 2 stretchy side pockets when compared to the Aura’s fixed side pockets that can only be utilized for water carry. However, said stretchy pockets are too far from arm’s reach to retrieve a water bottle without dropping your pack, prompting my purchase of the Shock Cord Drawstring Top Water Bottle Holder from Etsy’s GearBagsandMorebyCP, adding 5.6 ounces to the design. The Sandhill retails for a very affordable $208.50, offering a bit of savings from the Aura’s $270.00 price tag even after factoring in the cost of $16.00 for the water bottle holder. I cannot speak for its durability over months of all weather hiking, as I only had it out for 4 days, but I sensed no indication of fragility.

A rare breed, the Sandhill Ultralight 65L Backpack, aced the trifecta of weight, affordability, and function.

Red Fox Sandhill Ultralight Backpack 65L.

I likey.

So much so that I am choosing to take the Sandhill on my 100 mile section of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) in Southern California later this week, spanning from the desert of the Sonoran to the snow capped 10,834 foot peak of Mount San Jacinto.

20 mile days with cactus, but without reliable water sourcing nor refuge from the sun? Only to rely on an ice axe in the case of my need to self-arrest while descending San J? A what?!?

But I’ve never attempted anything of this genre. How will I? Can I?

“You did the AT, you can do anything.”, Safari wrote.