I’m not sure if this is a case study in heading over the hill, a lesson for beginners, a trip report, or an expression of philosophy – so feel free to chime in on any or all of those topics.

Last week, I returned from a two-night trip with a 27-year-old friend (Clown, who thru-hiked the AT in 2004) along the Appalachian Trail near Damascus, Virginia (VA 603 road crossing to Elk Garden). We met when I was his Scoutmaster, both enjoyed backpacking, and had gotten together several times in the last few years (after he finished a tour in the SEALs) to go to Isle Royale and the Shenandoah Valley.

We had a memorable trip: we saw some of the most incredible scenery I’ve ever seen, and got to pet some wild ponies. We walked in sunny weather and light rain, and spent the second night in Thomas Knob shelter while thirty-mile winds whipped rain and fog around the shelter all night. The views from the high balds were incredible, with minimal signs of human encroachment. This was an altogether wonderful trip for me, since I’d pretty much done all my hiking in Kentucky, Indiana, and Ohio.

There was only one problem: this two-night trip was supposed to be a four-night trip. Our original plan was to hike from the VA 603 crossing back into Damascus. Clown did do the whole trip, but I bailed out at Elk Garden. I’ve been trying to analyze what went wrong, and think I’ve finally figured it out. It was a combination of rookie error (I should have known better), over-estimation of my current abilities, and a lack of physical preparation. I also came to realize that quite a few things went right: my gear worked perfectly, I enjoyed myself despite the problems, and (I think) I exercised good judgment in the bail-out decision.

Our first day started in early afternoon, hiking from the drop off point almost to the top of Pine Mountain – an elevation gain of 1,500 feet in 3 miles. About halfway up, my hips were hurting (sharp pain, in the sockets), and I was stopping for breath a lot more often than usual. The shortness of breath bothered me the whole hike, and it wasn’t until I was reviewing the maps after I got home that I realized why: we were mostly hiking at 5,000 feet. I’d always been able to hike moderately-high terrain such as Cumberland Gap (about 3,500 feet) without being out of breath, and I blithely figured this wouldn’t be any different. I never realized that, in essence, I’d gone from low-altitude Ohio to walk around in Denver-like conditions.

We camped on top of Pine Mountain the first night and my hips pretty well recovered overnight. I slept well, and we headed out the next morning for Thomas Knob shelter. This was a 10-mile day in which we lost 500 feet, then gained 1,500 feet before reaching the shelter. We spent much of the day hiking in and out of the woods, along the balds. We encountered several groups of wild ponies – “wild” being a relative term, since they would wander up to you and let you pet them. Most of the day, my hips were again giving me problems, and I was still finding myself stopping frequently to catch my breath. The trail here is mostly rocks and small boulders, which put that much more impact onto my legs and thighs with each rock-hopping step. (This trail is even rockier than those at Isle Royale.) My poles helped, but couldn’t solve the problem. In the afternoon, it began to rain very lightly – just enough that you needed a rain jacket, and just cool enough that you didn’t overheat too much on the climb.

By the time we got to Thomas Knob shelter, my hips were screaming with each step, and one knee was a little sore. I was also exhausted – it had taken us all day to cover 10 miles, making a little better than a mile an hour. I crawled into my sleeping bag and took a little nap, then got up to make some tea and eat a granola bar, followed by supper (for which I had finally worked up an appetite as the exhaustion went away.) Although I was sleeping on a Prolite 4 pad, I didn’t sleep very well. I couldn’t lay on my sides or my back for more than 15 minutes without my hips complaining.

The next morning we headed toward Elk Garden, a drop of 1,000 feet in about 4 miles. My hips were howling by the time we got there around noon, and when I looked at the 2-mile, 1,000 foot climb facing us and thought about the 6 miles still to go after the climb, I knew I was done. I called back to Damascus for a shuttle, and left the trail. Clown hiked on into Damascus over the next day and a half. (He was kind enough to tell me afterward that I had done the roughest part of the trail, and seen all of the neat stuff; he said everything past Elk Garden was just a rainy walk in the fog and rain, with not good overlooks or other scenery.)

So, what went wrong with my plan? I think it was a combination of things:

1) I overestimated my own abilities. I discounted the fact that it had been two years since I’d been on a trip with serious elevation gain and loss or more than 6 miles of hiking per day. I didn’t give enough consideration to being 25 pounds overweight, and unrealistically assumed that I would be able to get a few practice trips in (despite competing demands for my time.) I also figured that, since 8 mile days hadn’t been unusual for me in the past, I shouldn’t have any trouble with 12 mile days – I hadn’t actually done such a day for 10 years, but, hey, it’s like riding a bike, right?

2) I wasn’t sufficiently involved in planning the trip. I let Clown handle all the details; after all, he knew my hiking style, had thru-hiked the AT in 2004, and had made several return trips to this area. Don’t get me wrong: he didn’t bully or shame me into making the trip, and he asked for feedback all during the planning. But, in the end, I didn’t spend enough time with the maps and trail descriptions to realistically assess distance versus difficulty, and I totally ignored the effect of hiking at a 5,000 foot elevation (that only applies out West, right?)

3) I didn’t train for the trip. I meant to, and had some two-night trips to southern Kentucky planned. But, something always came up, and I couldn’t get away at noon Friday, which ruined the whole thing...with the end result that I did nothing except a couple of late-afternoon hikes with a sleepover at the local state park.

However, I also think I did a couple of things right:

1) I did a good job of selecting gear and food. My gear functioned perfectly for me, and stayed in the background of the trip. It kept me warm, reasonably dry, and comfortable. I took almost the right amount of food – I just shouldn’t have put the ramen noodles in at the last minute. It was nice not to have to worry about these details during the trip – and, considering that I was pretty tired most of the time, it was probably good that the gear had a low “fiddle factor.” I had considered taking a lighter tent and water filter, and replacing my rain gear with a poncho. This would have saved me about two pounds (out of a 25 pound load), but I had concerns about suitability, durability, ease of use, and comfort. I feel fairly sure that, had I made these substitutions, I would have gotten wet in the windy rain. I also believe that, even though the tent and filter would have worked, I’d have been constantly wondering about them, and gear would have gotten in the way of the experience.

2) I was able to keep a good mental state, and enjoy the hike despite the physical problems. I knew I had to keep going to reach the first feasible bail-out point, 20 miles into the hike, so I was able to separate the physical pain from the rest of the trip. I still enjoyed the views, and the ponies, and everything else – even the walk in the rain (as much as you ever can enjoy walking in the rain.) I may not have enjoyed it as much as I would have without the pain, but I didn’t let the pain prevent me from having some enjoyment.

3) I was able to make the decision to bail out, even though I wanted to go on and Clown tried to help me go on. He offered to carry my pack up the big climbs (I refused, for obvious reasons, to make his hike more difficult because I hadn’t properly prepared.) I didn’t want to leave the trail – I’d already done the hardest part. A couple more tough climbs, and the rest was downhill (more or less.) But, it was still 20 miles of downhill, my knees and hips were getting worse, not better, and it was getting colder and rainier. I sat down, pulled out a map, and took a half an hour to mull things over. In the end, I decided I could probably tough it out, but I also thought about the consequences of deciding to go on and being wrong about toughing it out. The next possible bailout point was another 10 miles away. What if my hips or knees completely gave out, or if I over-stressed my cardiovascular system and brought on a heart attack? (Yes, that was an overreaction – but I hadn’t figured out the “I’m in Denver” part yet.) That would turn my selfish goal into Clown’s (and maybe other people’s) huge problem. So, much as I hated to, I decided it was best to leave the trail.

Where do I go from here?

1) I’ve lowered my expectations. Given my age (57), the competing demands on my time from my job and my other interests (golf, being with my wife and friends, and spending time with my grandchildren), I finally have to admit that I am no longer serious about backpacking. I still enjoy it, but I am now at best a weekend, recreational backpacker. I’m probably not going to get into significantly better shape (though I am going to lose the weight - 5 pounds are already gone.) So, the Appalachian Trail and other “spectacular” trips are probably a thing of the past. Instead, my routine trips will be weekend visits to state parks and forest areas in Ohio and Indiana, with minimal elevation changes and 6 or 8 mile days being the norm. Some of these areas allow backpack camping; where they don’t, I’ll go off-season, when the public campgrounds are nearly empty, and camp there using only what I carry. A “big” trip will be a long weekend at Kentucky’s Red River Gorge or Mammoth Cave, or maybe 4 nights at Isle Royale. The terrain there is rugged enough to offer some challenge, but not so much that I’ll have serious physical issues. Sure, I’ll miss a lot of spectacular experiences by limiting myself this way. However, I finally realize that I’d rather relax and enjoy – and finish - a trip that’s within my capabilities than struggle to keep up on a trip that isn’t.

2) I’m going to try to get out more often. This will dovetail nicely with my lowered expectations. As noted above, my long weekend trips invariably fall apart at the last minute. I believe I’ll be better off taking shorter trips in Ohio and Indiana than not going at all. I can leave after work Friday or early Saturday morning, hike comfortably for a day and a half, and be home for supper Sunday. Granted, I won’t get as many hiking miles or bragging rights, but at least I’ll actually go.

3) I’m going to look back fondly on this trip. Am I sorry I went? Absolutely not! I saw some incredibly beautiful country, wild ponies (wild ponies!), and got to spend some time catching up with Clown, who will shortly become a father for the second time. Those things were worth every ache and pain. I definietely would have done some things differently, if I was given a do-over, but I’d still have gone.