1 State Down 13 to Go-Appalachian Trail | And then I walked — sarah robison · on the appalachian trail & a life unconventional

One state down, 13 to go!

A numeric milestone but not a quantitative one, as Georgia encases only 76 miles of trail. To give you a comparison, Virginia houses 544. Still a feel-good moment and a notch on my belt of accomplishments!

As I eagerly introduced myself to North Carolina on Sunday, March 28th, I was emotional as I said goodbye to Georgia. I got those “lump in the throat” feels as I approached the state line. Georgia had become maternal to me, my lighthouse and my albatross, I was comfortable with her. Crossing into a new territory was also a blatant reminder to stay PRESENT. I had already conquered an entire state?! I only get 13 more?! This truly saddened me and served as a reminder to savor each storm (both literal and figurative) as well as those easily overlooked moments of the sun glistening through my wooded path as it set or the magical sound of the trickling water as I balanced on a rock to filter it. The most impactful views haven’t been the named overlooks that have made their way into my guidebook. I may only get one “quit your job/nature submersion/throw a splash of Flamin’ Hot’s Jack D in your morning coffee on a Monday/eat Pop Tarts for dinner/run free moment”. I WANT TO SOAK IT ALL UP.

I’m not wishing ANY of it away. A reminder that I am exactly where I should be.

North Carolina has come in HOT. Straight savage. Shortly after I entered, I was summoned to gain 1,000 feet of elevation in only 1.5 miles. In the hail. In cryptic fog. With cold hands and wet mittens. Out of water. Alone. It felt ominous. Eerie. I had been separated from my tramily (trail family) because of our separate ailments, paces, nature calls, hunger spikes and photo-ops. I was scared, no- actually petrified for the first time of the trip. What was my plan should I not make it to camp before dark and at risk for hypothermia? I had feared this exact moment while I was still tucked into my comfortable life at home. I was not afraid of the 4-legged animals, nor the 2-legged ones, but I was immensely afraid of the weather.

Very surprisingly, I had a blip of cell reception and called Katie. I needed to hear the voice and thought patterns of someone who knew these mountains and could bring me “back”. She knew that I was in a bad way when she heard the sobs interrupted by series of quick breaths and verbal diarrhea. She reminded me, “You won’t die of dehydration in one night. You can eat the snow in lieu of water. You can use your stove to warm your hands. You have your dry sleeping clothes in your dry sack deep inside of your pack. You have everything that you need right on your back. You know what to do. You are safe.” I took a deeeeeeeep breath. She was exactly right. I then looked up and saw a man with a big ol’ beard and a big ol’ smile, wearing a rain kilt. The epitome of an Irishman. He who I would later come to know as Red Beard, was exactly what I needed without intention. Another human in the flesh.

I was super dramatic later that evening, telling him that he “saved my life”. Yes, this made his shoulders broad, but F$&! that- I saved my own life.

This is not for the weak.

I awoke the following morning to an ice coated ground, socks, shoes, but not a cold spirit. It felt reasonable to skip the sunscreen application, as the creme itself was as cold as gelato and I could see my own breath. You’d agree, right?

Fast forward 12 hours to my nose so sunburned, my transient trail name could’ve been Rudolph.

This is a complete trip, y’all!

Speaking of trail names… Just as Matthew, Johnathan, and Charles transition into Matt, Matty, John, Johnny, J, Chuck, and Charley, Serendipity has morphed. Dipity…Dippy…Dips…Dip…D…depending on my company. I prefer Dip.

“Dip!!! Is that YOU?!?!?!”, I hear as I was bouldering up Albert Mountain. It was Pinch, who I had lost in the fog the day prior. “Bouldering” meaning that I had to use my hands and feet to climb the rocks (boulders) that would get me to the fire tower that signifies your 1st 100 miles on trail. A climb that ascends 600 vertical feet in 0.1 miles. That’s not even half of one time around a football field. Hello quads. Hello glutes. We’re getting to be very well acquainted.

ONE HUNDRED MILES.

Tomorrow marks my 1 month “haven’t had to wear an N95” anniversary. Another milestone! Jealous, Presby family?!

I had a talk with myself, making a promise never to quit on a bad day. And who quits on a good day? No one.

Therefore, I’ll keep walking.