June 21, 2021

I know, I know…it’s been a while.

I am committed to prioritizing 3 things first and foremost- 1.) My safety. 2.) My mileage. 3.) My presence.

I’ve been salivating for the creative outlet that my writing both quenches me and embraces all of you since this journey has begun, but that will have to come 2nd to my “Big 3” (above). Hence, my recent hiatus. There has been fire, injured gear, nostalgic pause, sequences of visits from home, and even the near-fatality of a plush family pet.

Sink yourself into an armchair, and let me explain…

Just after nightfall, on the evening of June 21st, I sat Indian style in my tent at mile 895. Smiling ear to ear, enjoying freeze dried lasagna with “meat”balls while listening to Tedeschi Trucks Band. Feeling like a bada$$ b!#%&.

I was wrapping up my second day of solo-hiking in the Shenandoah’s, fatigued, parched, and increasingly anxious as I was at a loss to find a conducive tent spot to lay my head for the night. Without a fellow hiker in sight to bounce my plan “B”, “C”…or even “D” off of, I was first in search of a water source to provide enough agua to safely get me through the night. I found a piped spring 0.5 miles off of the trail at one of the PATC (Potomac Appalachian Trail Club) huts, adding an additional mile in total to my day’s work. My shoulders, now burdened with an additional 8.8 pounds of supplemental water, were hungry for a very modest-sized, mostly-flat, clearing that could accommodate my Ritz Carlton on wheels.

With the setting of the sun came the incidental toppling of my freshly collected vestibule of piped spring water out of my external pack straps and over a Shenandoahan hillside. I stared at its trajectory, unable to see its finish through the brush. I wanted to cry. I yearned for the days that I could turn to Old School or Wallflower to find them already scaling the downhill, retrieving it. I dropped my pack. I stood motionless, staring my task in the face. Here’s where it gets beautiful folks- I felt a wave of gratitude fall over me like a down comforter. It wasn’t yet badly storming…summer solstice had gifted me with extended daylight…my ankles remained strong…my determination unwavering. In this moment, I fully not only trusted that I was meant to traverse these series of feats, but I welcomed them. WELCOMED them. Do you understand the difference? DO YOU?!? I knew that, felt that, I was actively being built for perseverance, and rustling into the overgrowth I went. Machine status. Think Rambo. Grrrr.

A half of a mile later, I laid my eyes on a valley complete with a pine-covered oval to my right. It would be my bedroom for the night. Out loud, I praised, in despair, “Thank you, God.” I meant it. I was depleted, yet utterly rejuvenated in the completion of my day’s trek.

As the thunder roared, the rain was assuredly soon to follow. I chose to pitch my tent first, taking priority to keep it dry. Next, the bear line. With not a rock to be found to fill my rock sack, I would need to channel my inner Boy Scout. Almond Joys. I would weight the Dyneema-clad pouch with miniature candy bars and pitch it. Brilliant.

My sleeping pillow with a faulty valve, I was called to improvise. I rolled my puffy coat into a cantaloupe-sized sphere and maintained its shape by stuffing it into my Buff. Boom. Neck integrity, preserved.

I scrutinized my legs for intruders under the scope of my headlamp, and what I thought to be a stubborn fleck of dirt ended up kicking and screaming as I evicted it with my tweezers. A Nymph Tick, which carries the highest risk of Lyme’s disease transmission. As the blood drained from my brow, I reached for my lighter, and turned that SOB into ash. Barbaric cremation. How did I know that ticks should only be removed with pointed tweezers (as to not leave their head buried behind)? That they cannot be squashed into tick heaven? Because the week prior, I watched as Wallflower went head to head with one himself. See one. Do one. Teach one. Serendipity.

My unmentionables had become so chaffed throughout the day’s heat, that bleeding had ensued. Too robotically driven throughout the day, I wouldn’t become painfully aware of the issue at hand until I woke in the morning. I couldn’t walk in this condition. This was worse than a shin splint. Than Poison Oak. Than a stress fracture. Would I zero here?? No. I would reach for my pocket knife, and savagely saw the liner out of my shorts, removing the culprit. Apply the only remedy that I had on hand- my antibiotic foot creme. And go commando. In other words, I handled it. Remember- it is “how”, not “if”.

I was without cellular service throughout these strings of misfortune. What felt like a curse in its epitome of aloneness and self-sufficiency, revealed itself to be a blessing in its gifts of autonomy and solitude.

On Monday, June 21, 2021. I felt like a thru hiker.

Mark your calendars.

The only way out, is through. I plead, use your fear as your guide.

Just as the perfect storm of pain (foot creme to the unmentionables, for example) may be awaiting you around the next corner, unannounced, so is the perfect storm of sheer delight…

On my 4th day in Shenandoah National Park, I was RIPE. Searching for a bath and a Maytag, I happened upon Lewis Mountain Lodge 8 miles into my day, which was only a brief blue blaze (side trail) off of the AT. With a turbaned towel, a stale turkey wrap from the cooler, and a handful of postcards, I parked it at a picnic table. “Are you two thru hiking?”, I asked Steve and Ron. Unbeknownst to me at the time, a question that would birth the most unique of fellowships.

They weren’t, they had just finished a section of the Shenandoahs and were unsure of their plans for the rest of the evening. We shared stories over IPAs while my laundry finished. The trials of their history of outdoor adventures in exchange for my experiences on trail, it was as if we had known each other for years. I was aiming for Big Meadows campground that evening and was anxious about securing a tent spot there, as I was sure to arrive after the groundskeeper had left for the evening. Big Meadows is a sacred space for me. It holds the finish line to my previous series of Southbound section hikes, the heartache of my life’s circumstance a year ago, and the bud of my contemplation to thru hike. I simply had to camp there. Steve and Ron had an idea. They’d drive there, secure a tent spot, and welcomed me to pitch my tent on their lot when I arrived. They were invested in my goal. And if I made it there by 9pm, we could share meals at the on-site lodge. If not, I’d be elated to simply have the opportunity to sleep on my holy land of yesteryear.

9.5 miles in 3.5 hours was a cadence that I hadn’t yet come close to achieving, but I told the boys that I’d be there in time for dinner. They offered to slack-pack me (drive my pack to my destination while I traveled, light-footed, without its weight). I declined- I’m a purist, remember? I later learned that they had looked at their watches and then to one another as I took stride off of Lewis Mountain, planning to secure take-out for me. Objectively, there was simply no chance of me making it in time to join them at the table.

With 10 minutes to spare, I quite literally burst into the lodge at Big Meadows. In chorus, they rang, “You’re our hero, Dips!!”

They quickly learned who they had on their hands.

Willful sounds so much softer than stubborn…

Gobs of pimento cheese, a veggie burger topped with an after-hours fried egg, and talk of each of our pasts later, we were kindred.

I had an epiphanic moment as I approached the Elkwallow wayside. One that actually brought my tread to a halt. My willingness and ability to hike alone was a testament to my evolution of self, a representation that I have grown out of both my fear of being alone and willingness to self-sacrifice for the comfort of others. The dynamic duo which led to my saying, “I do”, when my intuition was screaming, “Sarah, you don’t.”

In the words of Mark Twain, good decisions come from experience, and experience comes from poor decisions.

When we know better, we do better.

When we’re ready.

From Big Meadows, heading Northbound, my 1st 100 mile week was coming to a close. 108 miles in 6.5 days, alone. To be precise. I called my Mother, crying, “I’m doing it, Mom. I’m doing it.” My tears were joyful ones. Ones of quiet elation for my accomplishments, both physically and emotionally, as I walked in reverse on both a figurative and literal old path.

Marilyn Fisher and I were first sister ICU nurses, and in 2007, became anesthesia colleagues. A dear friend that I hadn’t seen or connected with past the surface of the social media bubble in over 10 years since her move to Northern Virginia. A friend that was waiting for me, with her gem of a husband, Greg, at Compton Gap with Kombucha, potato salad, honied ham, and pickles as I was beginning my descent out of the Shenandoahs. They fed and watered my brethren, hiked the last 6 miles of the park with me, and gifted me with a private suite at Front Royal’s Mountain Home B&B, a decade’s worth of personal and professional catch up over Calumet Farm bourbon and fettuccine carbonara, and all of the epsom salt, jojoba oil and under eye serum that Marilyn could fit into her hatchback.

The Fisher’s are a rare breed. Loyal. Loving. Strong. Unconditional. Uncommon amongst the uncommon, as David GOGGINS would say (recited in my most proper British dialect).

Last October, Katie and I sat at an outdoor table at Element restaurant in Front Royal, Virginia having 5 days of our Northern Virginian section hike under our belt, with 4 more to go. Our longest to date, we felt strong and capable and discussed the logistics of my wanderlust to thru hike the trail. Which airport would I fly into? How would I check a backpack the size of a small automobile? How does one register for such an undertaking? I couldn’t possibly quit my job. Nor start alone. Katie hopped onto the Appalachian Trail Conservancy’s website to “information gather”, we called it. She could start the first leg with me. Her husband, Donald, had a dogsledding trip planned for March in Boundary Waters, Minnesota. He’d return to Pittsburgh on the 14th. They would need a day to swap out the children and responsibilities, naturally. We’d leave for Georgia on the 16th. I could start my thru hike on the 18th. Sitting at that table, sipping on Sauvignon Blanc and noshing on a chicken salad sandwich, I felt like the child that wasn’t quite tall enough to ride the roller coaster. And never would be.

I started my thru hike on March 18, 2021, and Front Royal, Virginia with always be an evocative space for me.

My next stop would be Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. I had plans months in the making to meet Suellen there upon my arrival, but my timing and her circumstance would deem that impossible once the time had come. Her age-old friend, Donna, who resides in the area eagerly stepped in as pinch hitter, and we made plans to meet on Tuesday, the 29th at 4:30pm at Ashby Gap. “Don’t be shy, Sarah”, Donna insisted. “Anything that you’d like, I’m happy to bring.” Orange Gatorade, ice cold water, chilled white wine, fresh fruit, and…Yoo-hoo. A fiery mix. Wait, why didn’t I escape the 90 degree temperatures and come back to her house for the evening to shower and eat a respectable meal, Donna asked. An angelic offer. Hours later, I hear Neil Diamond’s “Sweeeet Car-o-line!!” playing through Alexa as I barged into Donna’s foyer, tossing my mildewed pack onto the tile. Naturally, I joined in chorus, “LET’S GO PITT!!”…and so did someone else. “I just heard a voice, Donna.”, I questioned. I turned to find Suellen’s contagious smile and teary eyes pop up from the sofa that she had been camouflaged on, waiting. In seconds, I was prone, sandwiched on top of her, “OH MY GODDDD! NOOOO WAYYYY!!!”. “Look!”, she said, pointing over my left shoulder. I turned to find Pam Norton (ref: Hot Springs visitor) nestled into Donna’s loveseat. “Eeeeeeeeeekkkk!!!!”

These 2 women drove 8 of 12 hours to spend the remaining 4 with me. ME. With children of their own actively moving across the country and also the globe, they showered me with Palmetto cheese dip, Fat Tire, creamy Caesar, homemade meatballs, a new friend in Donna, and love. Lots of love. Silent love. Love from the sidelines. Love that allows me to fly.

After leaving Donna’s, Wallflower and I cracked 1K, paid for the Dave’s Insanity Sauce that we added to our egg sandwiches, and weathered an unexpected downpour that left me saying, “I deserve a f%@#!*$ medal. A MEDAL!”. We cut the day’s planned hike short by 1 mile when we stumbled across a tent space to shelter us from the storm. A space without a reasonable water source. I didn’t care. The mud was thick, and the morale was low. And I mean, LOW. With only room enough to pitch 1 tent, we chose his and ordered 2 gallons of purified water from 7-11 via Grubhub to the nearest trailhead at Key’s Gap. Can you say bougie hikers?!? And yes, of course I added a Slurpee. Duh. And then we did the unadvised…

We made the decision to cook in the tent because of the storm outside.

In the most responsible way.

Leaving all of our gear tidied in our packs, I went first. I stared at the flame, glowing underneath of my pot, as my ramen came to a boil. Things were going swimmingly. Al dente, right around the corner. Wallflower began to prep for his turn by screwing his stove onto his fuel canister, “hisssssss…BOOMMMMMM!!”. My flame swallowed his exhaust. F&@#.

F&@#, f&@#, f&@#, f&@#, F&@# !!!!

Instinctively, I used my boiling pot of ramen to extinguish the comet that had engulfed both of our pots. Next the 2 gallons of water that had just been delivered, talk about trail magic… Wallflower sacrificed his hands to catapult the fiery death trap out of the hole in the vestibule of his tent that had already been burned. The rain did the rest.

We sat motionless. Speechless. I laughed through my tears, as I sat numb, grateful having escaped 3rd degree burns to my face, remorseful that we had nearly severely hurt ourselves and burnt down a portion of the Appalachian Estates. Wallflower, now without a tent. Homeless, in the truest sense.

It is a privilege to be out here, and a Godsend to have been gifted this scare without penalty.

On May 11, 2021, The Appalachian Trail Conservancy announced that they will again begin to recognize successful thru hikers into the club for the first time since the COVID-19 surge. Practically, spinning cartwheels and tossing bottle rockets, I would now have the honor of receiving my official bag tag and iconic Polaroid at their headquarters in Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia. Said photos are placed in a yearbook for decades to come. About the woman who took my photograph…let’s call her “Karen”. “Karen” felt it her due diligence to quiz The Dips on facts & figures before relinquishing said sacred tag. How many feet in the air should my bear bag be hung? I dunno, Karen, 200 feet from camp. 4 feet out on the branch. I was drawing a blank as to exactly how high said branch should be. My blood sugar was plummeting and the blisters on my feet were screaming. 100 feet? No, that sounded too steep. I think that I added an extra zero. My paracord was 50 feet long… Karen interrupted, “C’mon, a 50 foot cord over a branch 100 feet in the air? Let’s do the math.”

Math, Karen? Math ?? Here’s a little math for ya’- I SLEPT with my food bag last night as a pillow because my TENT burnt DOWN!! How do ya like that, KAREN?!?

Now, give me my tag.

Not only did Katie meet me at the spiritual half-way point of my hike, but the entire Webber-Plank clan came in tow! Their 36 hour visit complete with salmon lox, fresh peaches, roasted green beans, lemon zest, egg salad, eggs scrambled, eggs deviled, and lots of catch-up over french press and campfire. I snuggled with the family in the pop-up camper and Wallflower pirated my tent, as he remained without his own. “Umm, Dips…something happened. To the tent.”, he sheepishly disclosed. “Something happened ?”, I followed. “Yeah. I think that one of the kids maybe, like, fell on it.” Fell, on it?!? Stephen announced, “Oh yeah- Nicky took a nosedive into it this morning. Uh huh.”

The main artery of my tent poles had snapped. Not only snapped, but the carbon fiber had nearly sheared the bungie cord that lay inside, leaving it unreconcilable with a tent splint.

2 hikers. Zero tents.

In the words of Mary Byrne, we can control only 2 things- our attitude and our effort. Write that down.

I thanked 6 year old Nicky for “allowing” me to purchase a brandy new tent. He began clapping in celebration, and his smile, well worth the hassle.

We roll with the AT. We don’t try to beat it.

It was the Fourth of July when I traversed the fenced footbridge that crosses I-70 in Maryland. I had less than a mile left in my hike and had my eye on the prize- a box of sparklers that Katie tucked into my pack before she returned to Pittsburgh. The closest that I’d come to fireworks this year. As I approached a couple at the opposite end of the bridge, Randy asked, “You thru hiking?”. “Yes, I am”, I replied. He turned to Sara, “See honey, I told you that she was a thru hiker!”. “How did you know?”, I was more than curious.

“You can just tell.”, Randy replied.

I’ve arrived.

Little Stony Man Cliffs, 6/24

Tom, 82 years old, originally from Hershey, Pennsylvania was my shuttle driver from my hotel in Waynesboro, VA to the entry of the Shenandoahs. He said that if I moved there post-hike, that he’d like me to be mayor. Now, there’s an idea…

Kuju pour over coffee, courtesy of Rick Henker

Cream cheese, salmon, and salt and cracked pepper chips on a wheat tortilla

Colored by Mom 🎨 ♥️

Breakfast with a view

I connected with Mike and Vicky by flagging them down as they drove by. Desperate for a mailbox, I asked them to kindly mail my Goddaughter, Kenzie Vitsas, this postcard that I had been carrying for her birthday. They were fascinated by my quest and were full of inquires and a homemade ham and cheese sandwich 🥪 ♥️!

4th quarter reunion by happenstance!

Hit 900 in SNP on 6/22, in a downpour

Ham & cheese from Mike and Vicky!

Filtering water

Altra Lone Peak 5.0, now on my 3rd pair. Averaging a pair every 500 miles

Kat and Eric, from New Jersey, were out for a day hike when we met. My days in the Shenandoahs were longer as I took the time to chat with their abundance of day hikers and answer questions. Hopefully they’ll heed my advice and take on Maryland in the Spring!

Magic at Lewis Mountain Lodge

Shower and laundry at a convenience store 🧼, 6/23

Skyline Drive, Shenandoah National Park. It weaves through all 100 miles of trail, causing us to cross it multiple times per day. Keeping us quarantined from the public and the most beautiful of the park’s overlooks, we escape from the brush like gremlins only to saunter back in on the other side

Roughly 100 family cemeteries exist in Shenandoah National Park

My sacred space

Steve & Ron ♥️

Goofin’ off 🤪

Breakfast at Big Meadows overlook

Spring atop Little Stony Man

Bear bag rock sack

Logbook at Byrd’s Nest #3 Hut, 6/25

Flamin’ Hot and Ballsack

Elkwallow Wayside

Resupply at Elkwallow Wayside. I stared at this exact wall last year in anxiety and awe…how would I ever know how to be a thru hiker?

Link

Prepping for dusk as I hiked to Gravel Springs Hut

Foggy morning at Gravel Springs

An overlook where Katie and I shared dinner last fall with Skymall. I picked his brain as the sun set. To be back here, thru hiking… I am at a loss for words and was heavily emoting. Ugly crying tears of both joy and disbelief

Abe, OMG, and Ironman

Tree, unearthed

Hit mile 100 of my 108 mile week at Jenkins Gap. Thank you, Katie Weir, for always remembering the minutiae ♥️

The Fisher’s, Greg & Marilyn, and I!

✌🏼 out, Shennys. You were exactly what I needed, 6/26

Mountain Home B&B, where I met Skymall on his Southbound thru hike last October

9 boxes and 8 cards later, I set the record for the number of maildrops received at this hostel 💌

The McGraths, Chan Skiba, Monica and even Mrs. Helinski, Fauls, MB Czerniak, Jessica Schroeder- a friend of my sister’s whom I’ve never met but have inspired, Tina Lasica, Margaret Lucas, Maureen Tannous, GAIL CORBETT, Tomas Drabek, Karen Florian again, Matthew Caldwell again, Mary Byrne again, Bozena Brooks Larsen, Becca Powers…how do I thank each of you? You are making a difference, I hope that you FEEL that!

Monica, my KS 💚

Completely blown away by your kindness, Kevin!

Marilyn and I had coffee with Deja and her Mom, who was visiting ☕️ How beautiful, connecting these women, previously strangers who are now tied together thru our hikes

A meadery located in downtown Front Royal

The Salvetti’s drove over an hour to treat me to lunch 💙

Sardines, courtesy of my Faulsy 🐟

I woke up to Seeker playing acapella, his gorgeous voice softly ringing throughout the house of hardwoods. It was magic, and I sat and sobbed. I have the time to truly feel what I’m feeling.

Met Wallflower for a beer and hot wings at Front Royal Brewery

Bella and her Mom, Eve, showered us with some lovely trail magic…and a new do for Minnie 💇🏻‍♀️

Pam, Suellen (middle), and Donna ♥️♥️♥️

Sleepover! Thank you, Donna and Todd, for welcoming Wallflower and I into your home 🙌🏼

Homemade spaghetti and meatballs from the kitchen of Suellen 🍝♥️, 6/29

I hadn’t been in a home, nor in a kitchen, a living room, since March 16th

White blaze

Thank you in advance for the hypertension and hypercholesterolemia, Becca! 💔

1K, 6/30

Horseshoe Curve Tavern, Bluemont, Virginia. They had stopped serving food, but did have a live 12 string 🎸

Complete with a lift back to Bear’s Den Hostel in the back of Phil’s pick-up

Pancakes at Bear’s Den 🥞

Can you find “Dips”?? 💗

VA Route 7 at Snicker’s Gap, 7/1

Fresh fall

The 544 miles of Virginia behind me, I celebrated with Jim Beam 🥂

Supine Honey Nut Cheerios

The tent…mishap…

“They” say that you get your trail legs at around 500 miles. Mine came around at 850 and came so fierce that I felt confident enough to hold both poles in one hand…while traversing down a hill…in the mud…while I called the post office. This did not end well. Shocker. Add new trekking poles to the list ✔️

Bridge over the Potomac into Harper’s Ferry, 7/2

My official bag tag! Thank you KAREN!!

My iconic Polaroid 📸 taken at the “spiritual” halfway point of Harper’s Ferry. Spiritual, because the town houses all things “halfway” but milage wise, falls a bit short

Postal love from Dara and Nicole!

Letters from Nic, Luke, and Taylor 🌈

Luke 💙

Thank you, T 💖

Art from Dara and Dave 🖊

Flat Dara having root beers with the Tram on the lawn!

Harper’s Ferry pedestrian bridge, 7/2

The Webber-Planks welcomed Wallflower and Sunshine to the table and to camp with us at Treehouse campground for the night. Family.

Donald and Wallflower attempting to mend the sheared tent pole, post-nosedive

Homemade pole splint made with sticks. Resourceful, but unreliable

Weverton Cliffs, and the last time that Bear Bear would be photographed before his head injury…

Stephen overlooks, horrified, as Bear Bear had seemingly fallen to his death. Donald wasn’t having this on his watch. No, no, no. He scaled the cliffs, Superman style, and switchbacked back up to the top, placing the resuscitated bear back into the arms of Nicky. This man wears a cape.

Nicky Webber-Plank with my lone trekking pole

Nicky, Stephen and I sharing morning snuggles. Still working on Andrew…

Meet Bill and Ann Strauss, the father and sister of my beloved Aunt Chris, the wife of my Father’s late brother, Walter. Bill and Ann live in Maryland and traveled over an hour to see me for the fraction of one. We hadn’t seen each other in years as a result of the COVID outbreak and distance, but as you’ve seen, the trail brings people together. I shared stories and the ins and outs of my gear, and they shared plenty of hugs and a handmade card that will be most certainly be framed upon my return. One of my highlights of the trail, thank you for your unique kindness and utmost support, Bill and Ann ♥️

Katie and I at Gathland State Park

Look what I found in a hiker box!!

Independence Day swag, courtesy of MB Czerniak 🇺🇸

Was Smokey the Bear talking to me ??

The original Washington Monument, circa 1827, Boonsboro, MD

Footbridge over I-70, Maryland

Randy and Sara

Me and my sparkler at Pine Knob Shelter. The shelter where I used a backpacking stove for the first time, almost 2 years ago. The shelter where I earned my trail name. Who would’ve thought?…