Walking the Appalachian Trail

Doing the full Hike

DAY ONE — Springer Mountain, Georgia — Mile 0

It’s early. Cold enough to see your breath but not so cold it bites. You’re standing on top of Springer Mountain with nothing but trees behind and ahead. No fanfare. No grand arch. Just a small bronze plaque set into a boulder that reads Appalachian Trail. It’s quiet here, hushed like a library. The kind of quiet that makes you take a deep breath without thinking.

Your pack feels heavier than it did when you weighed it at home. It cuts a little into your shoulders already. You double check your water, your food bag, your boots; everything’s in order, but you still feel like you’re forgetting something. That’s okay. That feeling sticks around for a while out here.

The first few miles feel almost ceremonial. Every step says, I’m really doing this. You pass white blazes painted on trees. Those are your guide for the next few thousand miles. The trail is narrow and winding, muddy in places, roots grabbing at your feet like the forest is testing your balance. You don’t mind. Your legs are fresh. Your heart is full. It’s all forward from here.

Around midafternoon, you meet a guy at a trail junction. He’s about your age, with a beard that’s clearly had time to grow in. Trail name’s Woolly. He’s finishing a section hike and offers you a piece of dried mango. “First day?” he asks. You nod. He grins. “Keep your feet dry and your ego small. You’ll be fine.”

By sunset, you’re at your first shelter; bare wood, open front, nothing glamorous. You lay out your sleeping pad, cook a simple meal (instant rice and tuna), and watch the sky change colors behind the trees. There’s a small fire someone else started. People talk quietly, mostly about gear, trail names, what lies ahead. You don’t say much. You’re tired, but not worn out. Not yet.

Lying in your sleeping bag, you listen to the forest creak and chirp. You hear the distant call of an owl and the close rustle of mice hunting crumbs. The air smells like pine and damp earth. You stare up at the rafters of the shelter and think, This is it. The first day of something huge.

Sleep doesn’t come easy. Too much excitement. Too much wondering what’s ahead. But eventually, the weariness wins.

And when it does, the trail keeps moving forward.