These are what stand between me and the start of my thru-hike.
The three weeks are self-explanatory. But the tuna...the tuna has a story that needs told.
I've scoured the internet for different on-trail meals that are thru-hiker friendly, especially those with unexpected flavor and texture combinations. I want solid nutrition to supplement the junk I know I will be eating, and I'd love for it to be affordable. What comes up time and again as a great option that is both relatively healthy and cheap is tuna. Tuna packets. Room-temp tuna. Smooshed into a foil envelope, sitting in tuna oil or tuna water or whatever liquid the tuna swims in after it's been packed.
Tuna. It is the bane of my pre-thru-hike existence.
It's not the appearance that gets me, although the gray hue tuna takes on after it's been packaged for months (years???) doesn't necessarily draw me in. It's the smell. I can't stand the smell, and I can't stand the idea that I'll be eating that smell voluntarily. The single packet that I bought on a hopeful whim a few weeks ago is in my pantry, haunting me. It taunts me at night. I can hear it from upstairs, calling to me. You don't have what it takes, Anna. You can't even stand to look at me.
It's gotten out of control. I want to eat tuna while I hike, and I want to like it. Please send help (or massive amounts of beef jerky, whichever is easier).
This past weekend, I was lucky enough to go on a backpacking trip with three friends of mine. We decided it would be a good shakedown hike for me (a shakedown in terms of backpacking means you test out your gear and determine what you won't need on longer trips) and a great first trip for my friend who hadn't backpacked before. Our route was full of rewarding views and some tough ups and downs, but mostly mildly undulating terrain along the Peters Mountain ridgeline. The weather was PERFECT (I kid you not, it never got below 45 degrees or above 75 degrees). Super lucky.
On Friday evening, as the sun set, we traipsed past mini forests of mayapples, white flowers tucked under the canopies of their leaves blanketing the ground everywhere. We hiked to Table Rock to cook dinner as dusk turned the sky smoky blue. We ate smoked gouda with beef sticks, ramen with instant mashed potatoes, and so much trail mix. I'd brought sour gummy worms along for dessert (great on-trail palate cleanser, by the way).
The next day, as we hiked down the mountain to cross the Susquehanna River (and walk along Route 322), we passed a few thru-hikers heading north. One guy stopped long enough for a hi-there-how's-it-going-gorgeous-day-isn't-it-happy-trails-to-you-too to turn into a conversation. He explained how slow he hikes compared to "youngsters" and showed off his silvery hair, both of which inspired someone to give him the trail name Frosty The Slowman. A thick Mainer accent added to his charm. I explained my plan to flip-flop hike the Trail and said I hoped to see him on my way south since that'll be the second half of my trip, and he had a good head start on me. He just laughed. "You'll see me on your way north."
Getting to the car wasn't the end of our hike that day. We told ourselves the day before that we'd hike the short but fairly challenging climb up to Hawk Rock for the view, and there was no backing out now.
We charged up to the overlook pretty steadily, not stopping for breaks or slowing when the climb steepened. One of my friends decided to run up the steepest part just to get it over with. I plodded along with my pack, letting the warm May air fill my lungs. Suddenly, I was transported to a day during my thru-hike, a day that was not particular or unique and that had never actually happened but that, by now, was as familiar as a memory. I'd envisioned that day while in the Shenandoahs, while hiking solo in the Pennsylvania backcountry, and in so many dreams.
The other hikers nearby a moment ago had dissolved away and it was just me, puffing up the mountain. The journey I was on was real and palpable. I smelled terrible and was covered in days' worth of sweat and grime. I had hiked through torrential rain and heat and would not stop in a town for days to come. I was alone, in pain, and, perhaps most nightmarish of all, low on snacks. But, somehow, I was also incredibly satisfied.
Happy.
Fulfilled.
To listen to the next recording of my Capstone project, click the link below. To listen from the beginning, go to the recording featured at the end of "Details, Details..." and make your way from there to read each subsequent post and listen to each subsequent reading.
Happy trails and thanks for reading,
Anna
2nd row, center photo credit: Beatrice Zorrilla
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