Mile 714

Thru-hikers are a community of like-minded folks who carry all their possessions in a pack and walk thousands of miles through woods and weather. They exist in the periphery of your vision, hidden in plain sight. But, if you know where to look, you might find them passing by on the sidewalks of small-town America. Their home is the forest. Their pilgrimage is legendary for those in the know. They are transient and temporary. They leave no trace.

While the rest of the world is watching TV, they have staring contests with deer. When you are sitting down to dinner, they are tucked into tents and hammocks. Then, come the morning while townies and grannies are snoozing away in bed. They are up with first light. They are connected by a love of hiking, the outdoors, and the simple pleasure of a gently graded downhill slope along the Appalachian Trail.

Muggles are the folks who arrive on the AT without knowing its existence or purpose. Whether tourists, day hikers, or weekend wanderers, they come to the trail for tangential reasons. They are out to enjoy their day, see a point of interest, or hike a trail that just happens to be nearby. They have yet to have an earthly idea of the world of thru-hikers or the trail they call home.

Muggles smell nice, are cleanly shaved, and have large, heavy packs. They carry things like camp chairs and multiple outfits. Hikers, on the other hand, are a filthy, mangy lot that weighs every ounce, go weeks without a shower, and obsess over footwear as sommeliers obsess over wine. In short, it takes a particular type of crazy to attempt the Appalachian Trail, and whether they were labeled a jock, a geek, or an outcast in the real world, they all share a common language on the trail and are humbled by the same path. When one of their own does something unique, the community rejoices. Conversely, the same holds true when something tragic occurs.

Misfit climbed the ascent to McAfee Knob with a sense of reverence. She wondered if carrying a stone from the base to the peak to start or add to a cairn would be appropriate. Maybe a flower? She decided simply acknowledging what happened was enough. Several days ago, on this very site, a fellow hiker lost his life in the early morning while visiting this place. When she arrived at the cliff, it was readily apparent which of the people present were hikers and which were muggles. The outside world was blissfully unaware of the tragedy that occurred. While the details of Grandmaster’s death barely made headlines in the local paper, it shocked the trail like a lightning bolt. While thru-hikers looked at that iconic ledge and pondered the last moments of a fellow hiker’s life, muggles dangled their feet off the precarious cliff. It was surreal to realize this separation of experience. It was as if the two groups lived in parallel universes.

Misfit wasn’t close with Grandmaster though they crossed paths several times. Like many, he had a trail family that cared about him as only a trail family can. Everyone on the trail carries the event of his death and the memory of his life. The weight of that burden is heavier for some more than others. To them, she will offer her condolences and comfort when their paths cross. For here and now, she is reverent and says a prayer that they and their community will find peace and resolution where, at the moment, there is only loss and confusion.

She meditates on the scene before her once again. Genuflection and gaiety. Reverence and merriment. Existing side by side but not overlapping. She considers her own mortality and the ruthless power of the landscape she has traversed. When faced with such a tragedy, what else can be done? She does as others do. She pays her respects. She hikes on. She may move faster than others, but the event will forever change all of them.

Love, respect, and comfort to the tramily, family, and friends of Grandmaster.