Three Day Trial Hike

At the start of the hike, in North Carolina.

With just 3 months and 3 days left before the real thing, Ben and I embarked on a little tester hike on the Appalachian Trail (AT).  The plan was to test all the gear we’d bought or borrowed, and to give our legs a little reality check of what is in store.

Fortunately, we had a guide.  During the confusing consider-your-gear stage, I was overwhelmed by the options for every type of gear you can imagine.  Literally dozens of tents, bags, shoes – even socks!  Whatever happened to grab a tent, a sleeping bag, and just hike?  At this stage we'd met Cullen Cole at REI, who is great.  He’s hiked the AT, the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and the Great Divide Trail - the Holy Trinity of long distance hiking pilgrimages. He not only helped us get the right gear from REI, but in a few instances recommended other gear he felt was better than REI’s – a rare breed.  I’d asked him to join us on the trial hike and he planned the route, so we had a guru with us.

We joined the AT near the Georgia – North Carolina border, via a steep incline up to Deep Gap.  That first 3-mile leg was a vigorous ascent – at its steepest climbing over 2000 feet in under 2 miles.  To put this in context, we climbed to the top of a 160 story building in 2 hours.  We both felt our legs burning – Ben looked at me anxiously with eyes which groaned, “You wanna do this for a month – no friggin' way!!”  It was a low moment to start the trip.

After the drive from Atlanta in the morning, it was already 4pm, so we decided to look for a place to camp.  We hiked 3 miles southbound, which was full of the gentler, rolling hills one hopes for in a hike, to Muskrat Creek Shelter, and found the hut full of AT thru hikers.  They were a friendly bunch, if not exactly determined.   Everyone we spoke to had been hiking for 14+ days, and averaged about 5 miles per day – less than we had hiked since 2pm that day.  We bade them well, but I secretly felt that instead of hiking the AT, they were there to escape their own personal challenges, rather than face them, or those that the AT presented. 

Cullen proposed we go for Crooked Tree, a nice camp area that was 3 further miles through steeper terrain.  It was already 6pm, and as sunset was 830pm, we knew we’d have a challenge in front of us.  I was worried it might be too much for Ben, after the earlier climb.  I looked at him for the decision.  His eyes narrowed with resolve as he declared, “Let’s get going then.”

Ben roared off with a strong pace, even though the hills were both longer and steeper than the mid-section of the day.  The previous night’s temperature had been below freezing at 22 F (-5 C), and it had been snowing a couple of days before, so we now felt a biting wind cutting across the ridges we traversed as evening approached.  Ben seemed not to notice as the miles swept by; twice, I pointed out other options to camp.  I worried we’d arrive only to find the camp area taken, and have no light to find another, pitch camp (it’d be our first time testing all the gear in the actual woods) or gather fire wood. 

At the 1st camp, Ben pitched the tent while I lit the fire.

Before long, my fears were squashed, as we arrived to find the empty camp area with an hour to go before sunset.  Ben had led the way and we'd found a great place to camp.

So just a few notes about the gear:

• Tent – Big Agnes from REI, was easy to set up and take down, and light, if a bit expensive.  Hopefully, we'll get years of use out of it.
• Backpacks - the biggest winner of the trip, the ULA backpacks were awesome.  Light, durable and affordable.  And for the first time in 20 years of backpacking, Cullen taught me how to wear one - putting the weight on the hips instead of the shoulders!
• Sleeping bags - mixed bag here (pun intended); I had a super-light one, as I'm carrying more stuff, and had got Ben a cheap (heavy) one.  But I was feeling some fatherly guilt about this... I'll have to upgrade him.
• Air mattress - the neo-air was the biggest let down.  It's just too smooth and my sleeping bag kept sliding off it.  I'll be down-grading.
• Hiking poles - surprise hit.  I thought they'd be a waste, but we both liked using them.  I'll have to get a second pair.           

On the 2^nd day, we woke up a bit late, and started hiking about 1030am.  Again, Ben led from the front for most of the day, and it was this day Ben refers to in this video.

Mostly, we got into a nice rhythm, and just enjoyed the miles as they went by. Again, a few times we passed by AT Thru Hikers whose heart didn’t seem in it.  By then, I started to wonder how we would feel and act after two weeks without a soft bed or hot shower.  I felt bad for feeling critical earlier, and just full of admiration they were here, regardless of their purpose.

Toward the end of the day, as we climbed to the summit of Standing Indian Mountain where we hoped to camp after a short, 12-mile day, two things happened.  First, I had my own low moment, of the why-in-the-heck-am-I-doing-this variety.  My knees were aching, and I knew this was nothing compared to the PCT.  As I watched Ben leading the way up yet another switchback, I felt a little like groaning myself, until the second thing happened.  

Glad we missed the hosts!

We smelled a bear.  Of course, Cullen was the first to notice the odor, having seen, and smelled, many bears in his travels.  It was a lurking, musky scent, and permeated the air.  Ben and I waited for instruction – what does one do about the scent of a bear?  Should we retreat?  Which way?  We waited for a few moments, until Cullen decided the bear had passed this way not long ago.  I have no idea how he knew that, but he said we should just keep hiking, and for some reason my knee stopped hurting just then, which was nice, and we scampered up the rest of the mountain quite quickly, thank you very much.

There, we enjoyed the best views of the trip – a glorious scene over Lake Hiawassee and the Blue Ridge Mountains.  The camp ground itself was surrounded by soft grass, there was a fire circle of stones already assembled and there was plenty of firewood around.  And best of all, we had it to ourselves.  It was far more perfect than one can generally find in the woods, but just the type we all optimistically imagine is the norm.  I sat back, enjoyed the Long Island Tea I had brought with me, and felt like I was in heaven.

Pure majesty, as we enjoy some mac/cheese and watch the sun set over the Blue Ridge Mountains.  

Perversely, at the same time, I was aching all over.  My right knee was still sore, and I was just tuckered out.  Whilst these miles had been a good little trial, the AT is a lot easier than the PCT, as these altitude profiles help illustrate (AT vs PCT).  Ben and Cullen volunteered to hike down to the stream for water (thank goodness!), and I took a few moments to think - this is going to be tough.

That evening, we talked about the plan.  We have two options for the PCT this summer.  We want to fly back from Lake Tahoe, so we're either hiking southbound from near Redding, or northbound from near Bakersfield.  The pros and cons seem to be:

• Northbound, pros - arguably the most beautiful stretch of hiking on this planet, just legendary; cons - more crowded, steeper, harder, and more bears.
• Southbound, pros - still amazingly beautiful, less crowded and, of course, less bears.  Cons - if we don't do the other stretch now, will we ever??

The next morning we hiked back down to the car, just a quick 4 miles of descending.  Ben led the way, and I found myself feeling comforted by his enthusiasm.  After his initial wobble, he had approached every incline with determination.  Not every 13 year old boy would embrace the hardship of 'roughin it', but Ben was proactive and fun, and a joy of a companion.  As I consider the challenge in front of us, I'm not sure if we'll make 500 miles - just a few days on the AT made me realise what a gargantuan challenge that will be in just 28 days.  But I know the journey we travel together will be far greater than the miles, or the month we spend on the trail.

Ben builds the fire on the second night. 

Last morning, enjoying a mountain sized cup of coffee.

Just before the finish, alongside a gorgeous mountain stream.

The Magnitude Sets In.

 It’s five months and 10 days until Ben and I board a plane and fly to the Pacific Northwest on this mad adventure.

I’d like to share that this whole idea was a reflection of my life-long experience in the outdoors.  That I felt a quiet confidence in my ability as a father to guide my son in this Rite of Passage.   That I was a regular viewer of Ray Mears and Bear Grylls survival programs, and that, at the very least, I know all the theory.  But the truth is I don’t, and it’s beginning to scare me a little.

Sure, I’ve been hiking before.  Throughout my childhood, my father took me hiking, and fishing and hunting, all quite regularly.  I’ve built campfires in damp conditions and I’ve pitched a tent in complete blackness.  I’ve caught fish with nothing but some line and a hook, and fileted it into boneless shanks to fry into the most succulent morsels of fresh bass.  But mostly that was nearly thirty years ago, and I’m not sure how much I remember. 

And I’ve had some fairly mad adventures; I once hitchhiked across Africa.  I’ll never forget walking alone on the highways of Kenya, as the screaming local busses tossed themselves along the undulating roadway, passing by just inches from me, while I thumbed for a ride.  But I was the only one taking a risk there – if something bad happened it was only myself that could get hurt.

Hiking 500 miles in the Pacific Northwest is a different beast.  We’ll be in one of the remotest parts of America and, as Ben’s last post revealed, hiking with some very wild animals, a long way from shelter and water and any sort of realistic aide.  And most critically, my son's well-being largely depends on whether, to paraphrase the Boy Scouts, we're prepared.

With less than six months to go, the gears are creaking into motion to make sure we’re prepared for this thing.  We have dates.  We have plans.  We have recruits and volunteers into ‘Team Hike’ (thank you Dad and Olivia!).  And I guess we have that healthy level of fear brewing, which tells me this is definitely outside my comfort zone - we have a lot to do before I'll feel ready.

So it makes me nervous.   From the idea's beginning, I guess that’s been part of the point of this thing.  It's about transformation.  If I were a well-seasoned outdoors-man, this would somehow become a lesson in outdoorsmanship.  But I’m not.  I have just as much to learn over the next six months as Ben.

And whilst I’m in ok shape I am now a City boy and I have, according to anyone who’s ever seen it, the flattest bottom you can imagine (like, it’s concave), which is a pretty important muscle group for hiking 20 miles a day for 25 days.  So it’s going to be just as physically hard for me as it is Ben, if not harder.

So this Rite of Passage is going to ask a lot from both of us.  We’re both going into new territory, trembling from both excitement and nervousness, but preparing for whatever comes our way.  And if I don’t manage to light the campfire very impressively each night, at least I’ll be living by an important life principle I hope to teach my son: to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Dangers on the PCT

Next summer, most boys my age will be facing some sort of risk. These may include getting stung by jellyfish, falling off a bike and skinning a knee, or maybe even getting sunburnt on a luxurious holiday.

On the PCT no such dangers can be found.  My dad asked me to research some of the real dangers of the PCT so I would know what I had coming. He asked me to tell him about them, which got me wondering whether he genuinely wanted me to for the helpful research or he just couldn’t be bothered and wanted me to find out for him…probably a bit of both!  Anyway, I thought it would make good material for my next blog, so here’s what I found.

On the PCT, mosquitoes and wasps live and roam freely. They happily hunt down and torture any body that dares to cross their path. Desperate for food, these ‘micro-minions’ will track you down and devour your skin and bones. Unless you want to suffer much pain and agony, you want special clothing and mosquito hats.  Even with this protection, it’s still not the best idea to go and hit a wasp’s hive with a stick!!!

Virtually all of the PCT belongs to the almighty bear.  Whether you live or die really depends on whether you are in the right place at the right time. Yes, luck. Obviously the risk may be minimal, but August is the month we’ll be hiking and last summer, bear attacks occurred more in that time of the month than anytime else, probably because this is when these beasts stock up on food for hibernation. Bears generally avoid us and go for a less intelligent species but, when hungry, no bear can resist the tasty, crunchy surprise of a homo sapien!!! The only item needed for – what is supposed to be – protection, is a small can of what looks like deodorant. When you see a bear, you need to spray this ‘thing’ around yourself and pray to God that he leaves you the hell alone!!!

There are also Black Bears on the PCT.  Despite their namesake, Black Bears can be cinnamon, brown, black or even white (yes, some are albino).  Some smart chap probably just saw a black, black bear and said, “right, this is a black bear. Deal wiv’ it.”  They are the smallest of their subspecies and, unlike the Grizzly, love a good ol’ human for tea, recording the most fatalities. They generally hibernate during winter (imagine that!) and feed during [gulp] the period we are going to hike.

                                       

What if we fall off a cliff and snap out neck? Not good. In some areas the PCT is only 2-3 feet of walking space.  There is almost no way of making sure you don’t fall off a cliff - unless you select a part of the trail which doesn’t have any cliffs: BORING!!!

With all the stones, rocks and animal holes, it would not be unlikely for either my dad or I to twist or sprain an ankle, and have to miss a couple of days off our hike. We will of course take first aid kits but other than that, there are few things that can be done about this one.

Another danger - every year since 2004, there has been at least one forest fire that has killed more than fifteen people on the PCT.  For example, the Yosemite fire killed 104 people, 74 of them firefighters. If you are hiking from July to November, watch out, because that when fires most commonly scorch the trees of the PCT.

By far, one of the most likely problems on the PCT is that instance when you reach for your bottle, open the cap, open your mouth, tip the bottle over, and wait for the cooling sensation to occur, but nothing. You give the bottle a shake, hoping, praying, that worst wouldn’t come to worst. It does. You frantically scramble for your map, only to find the nearest town is miles away.  You’re now in danger of dehydration.  We will be bringing lots of water, of course, but because water is shockingly heavy, and at times we’ll be a several days’ hike from a town, we’ll have to ration our water very carefully.

So whilst other boys are complaining because of their sunburn, or grazed knees, I will be braving bears and dehydration.  And for some reason, perhaps an insane world view that I've obviously inherited from my dad, that sounds perfect to me.

The First Rite of Passage


When does one stop helping small children get dressed or tie their shoes?  When are they responsible for setting the dishes and cutlery before meals?  When is it dignified to refuse to carry them?


Allow me to introduce the Age of Responsibility.  It’s a real barn-stormer, and it felt like a big deal at the time even if, when you’re preparing for a 500-mile hike, it seems comparatively incidental.   


For our kids, it accompanied their 7th birthday, and was the most natural next step from the original idea.  Each child’s was a little different, with a few consistent themes.

The basic rules for the Rite included whatever bits of (mis)behavior they clung to at the time, and should have stopped by the age of six, but hadn’t.   We also added a few chores around the house that, however capable they were, they could handle.  And thirdly, we added in a couple of new 'house rules' that were important to us, like our approach to quitting.

Their mother and I both lament being allowed to quit certain things as children, so our rule is thus: if they start something, like ballet or rugby or music, let's use piano lessons as the example, they take lessons for an initial set and agreed period, something like 6 months.  Afterward, they don’t take piano lessons for a while.  We then ask them if they’d like to take lessons again.  They choose.  If they say yes, they take the lessons for an agreed period again, and are not allowed to quit during that period. 

Our theory is that this would help not only boost a belief they are not quitters, but also reduce the tedium that a seemingly endless stream of anything can foster.  They were able to try lots of hobbies (the only exception was swimming - they had to learn to swim), and work out which ones they truly loved, whilst retaining a resilient attitude.   It seems to have worked very well for our three kids.

Of course, every parent would have different priorities.  I don’t think the specific examples I’ve mentioned above matter as much as creating the Rite of Passage itself.

The best part is what we promised them in exchange for overcoming this Rite of Passage, for doing all these new chores and other behavior.  Nothing!  If I may immodestly share our description of it to them, which we repeated many, many times:

“You are going to love the Age of Responsibility.  You get to do X, Y and Z (all chores).  It’s the start of growing up, the first step to becoming an adult!  And you know what you get back – nothing!  It’s just like life!!

“You know what we get when an adult gets with a new job?  Lots of work!  You know what an adult gets with a new house?  More work!   A big lesson of life is, the older you get, the more responsibility you get, and the more responsibility you get the more work you get.”  Woo Hoo!!!

Yes, we spelled it out with enthusiastic, possibly sadistic, bluntness.  The best part is they realize it’s not a great deal, and that confuses them.  Freya once asked, “I gotta do all that... do I even get a single ice cream?” and for my fellow parents out there, steeped in the thick habit of negotiating with their children, I can report the answer was a jocular “Nooo!!”  

Frankly, I don't know why it seemed to work.  Perhaps they like the honesty of it.   You could see in their eyes a certain fascination that life isn't easy for the adults, either.  I think a big part is just their age.  Young children seem to inherently trust their parents, and if some things aren't easy or fair, so be it.

Any good Rite of Passage needs to culminate in a ritual.  We wanted to choose one that seemed both easy and hard – they’re only turning seven after all!  So we asked them to say a toast at their seventh birthday party.  Just thank everyone for coming and ask them to have a good time.

That seemed to work pretty well, although our youngest got very nervous indeed.

Now, back to planning this hike.  I want to give a special shout-out to my dad, who has been doing lots of amazing research recently.  More on that later.